Praise for Anna Todd and the After series
“Todd [is] the biggest literary phenom of her generation.”
—Cosmopolitan
“I was almost at the point like with Twilight that I just stop
everything and my sole focus was reading the book . . . Todd,
girl, you are a genius!!!”
—Once Upon a Twilight
“The Mr. Darcy and Lizzy Bennett of our time . . . If you
looked up ‘Bad Boy’ in the fiction dictionary, next to it would
be a picture of Hardin alongside Beautiful Bastard and Mr.
Darcy.”
—That’s Normal
“The one thing you can count on is to expect the unexpected.”
—Vilma’s Book Blog
“Anna Todd manages to make you scream, cry, laugh, fall in
love, and sit in the fetal position . . . Whether you have read
the Wattpad version or not, After is a can’t-miss book—but get
ready to feel emotions that you weren’t sure a book could
bring out of you. And if you have read the Wattpad version,
the book is 10x better.”
—Fangirlish
“A very entertaining read chock-full of drama drama
drama . . . This book will have you from the first page.”
—A Bookish Escape
“I couldn’t put this book down! It went with me everywhere so
I could get my Hessa fix every spare moment I had. Talk about
getting hooked from page one!”
—Grown Up Fangirl
I want more.
—Readers everywhere
To J, for loving me in a way
most people only dream of.
And to the Hardins of the
world, who deserve to have
their stories told, too.
prologue
TESSA
As I stare into the familiar face of this stranger, memories
flood me.
I used to sit there, brushing the hair on my blond Barbie
doll. Often, I’d wish that I was the doll: she had it made. She
was beautiful, she was always groomed, always exactly who
she was supposed to be. Her parents must be proud, I used to
think. Her father, wherever he was, was probably a big CEO,
traveling the world to make a life for his family while her
mother stayed back and took care of the house.
Barbie’s father would never come home stumbling and
yelling. He wouldn’t scream at her mother so loudly that
Barbie would hide in the greenhouse to get away from all the
noise and the breaking dishes. And if, by chance, some small,
easily explainable misunderstanding had caused an argument
between her parents, Barbie always had Ken, her perfect blond
boyfriend, to keep her company . . . even in the greenhouse.
Barbie was perfect, so she would have the perfect life, with
perfect parents.
My father, who left me nine years ago, is standing in front
of me, dirty and haggard. Nothing like he should be, nothing
like I remember. A smile covers his face as he stares at me,
and another memory surfaces.
My father, the night he left . . . my mother’s face set in
stone. She didn’t cry. She just stood there, waiting for him to
walk out the door. That night she changed; she wasn’t the
same loving mother anymore after that. She became something
unkind, and distant, and unhappy.
But she was there after he decided not to be.
chapter one
TESSA
Dad?” This man in front of me couldn’t possibly be my
father, despite the familiar brown eyes staring back at me.
“Tessie?” His voice is thicker sounding than I recall from
my distant memories.
Hardin turns to me, eyes blazing, and then back to my
father.
My father. Here, in this bad neighborhood, with filthy
clothes on his back.
“Tessie? Is that really you?” he asks.
I’m frozen. I have no words to say to this drunken man
wearing my father’s face.
Hardin puts a hand on my shoulder in an attempt to elicit a
reaction from me. “Tessa . . .”
I take a step toward the strange man, and he smiles. His
brown beard is peppered with gray; his smile isn’t white and
clean like I remember . . . how did he end up this way? All the
hope I once held that my father would’ve changed his life
around the way Ken did has vanished, and the realization that
this man is actually my father hurts worse than it should.
“It’s me,” someone says, and after a moment I realize the
words came from me.
He closes the space between us and wraps his arms around
me. “I can’t believe it! Here you are! I’ve been trying to—”
He’s cut short by Hardin pulling him away from me. I step
back, unsure how to behave.
The stranger—my father—looks between Hardin and me,
alert and in disbelief. But shortly he eases back into a
nonchalant posture and keeps his distance, for which I’m glad.
“I’ve been trying to find you for months,” he says, wiping
his hand across his forehead, leaving a smudge of dirt on his
skin.
Hardin stands in front of me, ready to pounce. “I’ve been
here,” I say quietly, peering around his shoulder. I’m thankful
for his protection, and it dawns on me that he must be
completely confused.
My father turns to him, looks him up and down for a while.
“Wow. Noah sure has changed a lot.”
“No, that’s Hardin,” I tell him.
My father shuffles around him a little and inches closer to
me, and I can see that Hardin tenses when he moves. This
close, I can smell him.
It’s either the liquor on his breath, or the by-product of
abusing liquor, that has him confusing the two; Hardin and
Noah are polar opposites, and could never be compared to
each other. My father swings an arm around me, and Hardin
gives me a look, but I shake my head slightly to keep him at
bay.
“Who’s he?” My father keeps his arm around me for an
uncomfortably long time while Hardin just stands there,
looking like he’s going to explode—not necessarily out of
anger, I realize; he just seems to have no clue what to say or
do.
That makes two of us. “He’s my . . . Hardin’s my . . .”
“Boyfriend. I’m her boyfriend,” he finishes for me.
The man’s brown irises go wide as he finally takes in
Hardin’s appearance.
“Nice to meet you, Hardin. I’m Richard.” He reaches his
dirty hand out to shake Hardin’s.
“Ehm . . . yeah, nice to meet you.” Hardin is clearly
very . . . unsettled.
“What are the two of you doing out around here?”
I take this opportunity to move away from my father and
stand next to Hardin, who snaps back to himself and pulls me
to his side.
“Hardin was getting a tattoo,” I answer robotically. My
mind is unable to comprehend all that’s happening right now.
“Ah . . . Nice. I’ve used this place before myself.”
Images of my father having coffee before leaving the house
every morning to go to work fill my mind. He looked nothing
like this, he spoke nothing like this, and he sure as hell didn’t
tattoo himself back when I knew him. When I was his little
girl.
“Yeah, my friend Tom does them.” He pushes up the sleeve
of his sweatshirt to reveal what resembles a skull on his
forearm.
It doesn’t look like it belongs on him, but as I continue to
examine him I begin to see that maybe it does. “Oh . . .” is all I
can manage.
This is so awkward. This man is my father, the man who
left my mother and me alone. And he’s here in front of me . . .
drunk. And I don’t know what to think.
Part of me is excited—a small part that I don’t want to
acknowledge at the moment. I had secretly been hoping to see
him again since the day my mother mentioned he was back in
the area. I know it’s silly—stupid, really—but in a way he
seems better than before. He’s drunk and possibly homeless,
but I have missed him more than I realized, and maybe he’s
just had a rough time lately. Who am I to judge this man when
I don’t know anything about him?
When I look at him, and at the street surrounding us, it’s
bizarre to see that everything is moving along as it normally
should. I could have sworn time stopped when my father
stumbled in front of us.
“Where are you living?” I ask.
Hardin’s defensive gaze is set on my father, watching him
like he’s a dangerous predator.
“I’m in between places right now.” He wipes his forehead
with his sleeve.
“Oh.”
“I was working down at Raymark, but I got laid off,” he
tells me.
I vaguely recall hearing the name Raymark before. I think
it’s some manufacturer. He’s been doing factory work?
“What have you been up to? It’s been, what . . . five years?”
I can feel Hardin stiffen next to me as I say, “No, it’s been
nine.”
“Nine years? I’m sorry, Tessie.” His words are slightly
slurred.
His nickname for me makes my heart sink; that name was
used in the best of times. In the time when he would lift me up
onto his shoulders and run through our small yard, the time
before he left. I don’t know what to make of this. I want to cry
because I haven’t seen him in so long, I want to laugh at the
irony of seeing him here, and I want to yell at him for leaving
me. It’s confusing to see him this way. I remember him as a
drunk, but he was an angry drunk then, not a smiling,
showing-off-tattoos-and-shaking-hands-with-my-boyfriend
drunk. Maybe he’s changed into a nicer man . . .
“I think it’s time to go,” Hardin states, looking at my father.
“I really am sorry; it wasn’t all my fault. Your mother . . .
you know how she is.” He defends himself, his hands waving
in front of him. “Please, Theresa, give me a chance,” the man
begs.
“Tessa . . .” Hardin warns beside me.
“Give us a second,” I say to my father. I grab Hardin by the
arm and lead him a few feet away.
“What the hell are you doing? You aren’t actually going to
—” he begins.
“He’s my dad, Hardin.”
“He’s a fucking homeless drunk,” he spits with annoyance.
Tears prick my eyes from Hardin’s truthful but harsh words.
“I haven’t seen him in nine years.”
“Exactly—because he left you. It’s a waste of time, Tessa.”
He glances behind me at my father.
“I don’t care. I want to hear him out.”
“I mean, I guess so. It’s not like you’re inviting him to the
apartment or anything.” He shakes his head.
“If I want to, I will. And if he wants to come, he’s coming
over. It’s my place, too,” I snap. I look over at my father. He’s
standing there, wearing dirty clothes, staring down at the
concrete in front of him. When was the last time he slept in a
bed? Had a meal? The thought makes my heart ache.
“You aren’t seriously considering having him come home
with us?” Hardin’s fingers slide through his hair in a familiar
gesture of frustration.
“Not to live or anything—just for tonight. We could make
dinner,” I offer. My father looks up and makes eye contact
with me. I look away as he starts to smile.
“Dinner? Tessa, he’s a goddamn drunk who hasn’t seen you
in almost ten years . . . and you’re talking about making dinner
for him?”
Embarrassed at his outburst, I pull him by the collar closer
to me and speak low. “He’s my father, Hardin, and I don’t
have a relationship with my mother anymore.”
“That doesn’t mean you need to have one with this guy.
This isn’t going to end well, Tess. You’re too damn nice to
everyone when they don’t deserve it.”
“This is important to me,” I tell him, and his eyes soften
before I can point out the irony of his objections.
He sighs and tugs at his messy hair in frustration.“Dammit,
Tessa, this isn’t going to end well.”
“You don’t know how it will end, Hardin,” I whisper and
look over at my father, who’s running his fingers over his
beard. I know Hardin may be right, but I owe it to myself to
attempt to get to know this man, or at least to hear what he has
to say.
I go back over to my father, instinctive apprehension
making my voice waver a little. “Do you want to come to our
place for dinner?”
“Really?” he exclaims, hope threading through his face.
“Yeah.”
“Okay! Yeah, okay!” He smiles, and for a brief moment the
man I remember flashes through—the man before the liquor,
that is.
Hardin doesn’t say a word as we all walk to the car. I know
he’s angry, and I understand why. But I also know that his
father has changed for the better—he runs our college, for
goodness’ sakes. Am I so foolish for hoping to witness a
similar change in my father?
When we approach the car, my father asks, “Whoa—this is
yours? It’s a Capri, right? Late-seventies model?”
“Yep.” Hardin climbs into the driver’s seat.
My father doesn’t question Hardin’s terse response, and I’m
glad for it. The radio is set low, and as soon as Hardin revs the
engine, we both reach for the knob at the same time, in hopes
that music will drown out the uncomfortable silence.
The whole drive to the apartment, I wonder how my mother
would take this. The thought gives me chills, and I try thinking
about my upcoming move to Seattle.
Nope, that’s almost worse; I don’t know how to talk about
it with Hardin. I close my eyes and lean my head against the
window. Hardin’s warm hand covers mine, and my nerves
begin to calm.
“Whoa, this is where you live?” My father gapes from the
backseat when we pull up to our apartment complex.
Hardin gives me a subtle here-it-comes look, and I respond,
“Yeah, we moved in a few months ago.”
In the elevator, Hardin’s protective gaze heats my cheeks,
and I give him a small smile, hoping to soften him. It seems to
work, but being in our home area with this virtual stranger is
just so awkward that I begin to regret inviting him over. It’s
too late now, though.
Hardin unlocks our door and walks inside without turning
around, immediately heading to the bedroom without a word.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell my father and turn to leave him
standing alone in the foyer area.
“Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” he calls after me.
“Of course not. It’s just down the hall,” I say, pointing to
the bathroom door without looking.
In the other room, Hardin’s on the bed, removing his boots.
Looking over to the door, he gestures for me to close it.
“I know you’re upset with me,” I quietly remark as I walk
over to him.
“I am.”
I take his face between my hands, my thumbs running over
both his cheeks. “Don’t be.”
His eyes close in appreciation of my gentle touch, and I feel
his arms wrap around my waist. “He’s going to hurt you. I’m
only trying to prevent that from happening.”
“He can’t hurt me—what could he possibly do? I haven’t
seen him in how long?”
“He’s probably out there shoving our shit in his bloody
pockets now,” Hardin huffs, and I can’t help but giggle. “It’s
not funny, Tessa.”
I sigh and tilt his chin up to make him look at me. “Can you
please try to lighten up and be positive about this? It’s
confusing enough without you sulking around and adding to
the pressure.”
“I’m not sulking. I’m trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need you to—he’s my dad.”
“He’s not your dad . . .”
“Please?” I run my thumb along his lip, and his expression
softens.
Sighing again, he finally answers, “Fine, let’s go have
dinner with this guy, then. God knows he hasn’t eaten anything
that didn’t come from a fucking Dumpster in a while.”
My smile fades and my lip quivers against my will. He
notices.
“I’m sorry; don’t cry.” He sighs. He hasn’t stopped sighing
since we ran into my father outside the tattoo shop. Seeing
Hardin’s worry—even if, like everything else he does, it’s
tinged with anger—only adds to the surrealness of the
situation.
“I meant everything I said, but I’ll try not to be a dick about
it.” He rises to his feet and presses his lips to the corner of my
mouth. As we exit our bedroom, he mumbles, “Let’s go feed
the beggar,” which doesn’t help my mood much.
The man in the living room looks so out of place, gazing
around the space, noticing the books on our shelves.
“I’m going to make dinner. You can watch television?” I
suggest.
“I can help?” he offers.
“Um, okay.” I half smile, and he follows me into the
kitchen. Hardin stays in the living room, keeping his distance,
as I suspected he would.
“I can’t believe you’re all grown up and living on your
own,” my father says.
I reach into the refrigerator to grab a tomato while I try to
collect my scattered thoughts. “I’m in college, at WCU. So is
Hardin,” I reply, leaving out his looming expulsion for obvious
reasons.
“Really? WCU? Wow.” He sits down at the table, and I
notice that the dirt has been scrubbed from his hands. The spot
on his forehead is gone, too, and a wet spot on the shoulder of
his shirt makes me think he was trying to clean a stain from it.
He’s nervous, too. Knowing that makes me feel a little better.
I almost tell him about Seattle and the exciting new
direction my life is going in, but I have yet to tell Hardin. My
father’s resurfacing has added another detour to my road map.
I don’t know how many problems I can deal with before
everything ends up collapsing at my feet.
“I wish I’d been around to see all this happen. I always
knew you’d make something of yourself.”
“You weren’t around, though,” I say tersely. Guilt plagues
me as soon as I say the words, but I don’t wish to take them
back.
“I know, but I’m here now, and I’m hoping I can make up
for that.”
Those simple words are actually a bit cruel, giving me hope
that he might not be so bad after all, that maybe he just needs
help to stop drinking.
“Are you . . . Are you still drinking?”
“I am.” He looks at his feet. “Not as much. I know it looks
otherwise right now, but it’s been a hard few months . . . that’s
all.”
Hardin appears in the doorway of the kitchen, and I know
he’s battling with himself to stay quiet. I hope he can.
“I’ve seen your mom a few times.”
“You have?”
“Yeah. She wouldn’t tell me where you were. She looks
really good,” he says.
This is so awkward, him commenting on my mother. Her
voice plays in my head, reminding me that this man
abandoned us. That this man was the reason she is the way she
is today.
“What happened . . . with the two of you?” I place chicken
breasts in a pan, the oil crackling and popping as I wait for an
answer. I don’t want to turn and face him after asking such a
direct and abrupt question, but I just couldn’t stop myself from
inquiring.
“We just weren’t compatible; she always wanted more than
I could give her, and you know how she can be.”
That I do know, but the way he’s casually talking about her
in such a dismissive tone doesn’t sit well with me.
Shifting the blame from my mother back to him, I turn
quickly and ask, “Why didn’t you call?”
“I did—I always called. I sent you gifts every birthday. She
didn’t tell you that, did she?”
“No.”
“Well, it’s true—I did. I missed you so much all this time. I
can’t believe you’re here, in front of me now.” His eyes are
luminous and his voice shaky as he stands and walks toward
me. I don’t know how to react; I don’t even know the man
anymore, if I ever did.
Hardin steps into the kitchen to create a barrier between us,
and once again I’m glad for his intrusion. I don’t know what to
think of all of this; I need to keep physical space between this
man and me.
“I know you can’t forgive me.” He nearly sobs, and my
stomach drops.
“It’s not that. I just need time before I jump into having you
in my life again. I don’t even know you,” I tell him, and he
nods.
“I know, I know.” He sits back down at the table, leaving
me to finish preparing dinner.
chapter two
HARDIN
Tessa’s piece-of-shit sperm donor scarfs down two plates of
food before even stopping to take a breath. I’m sure he was
starving, living on the streets and all. It’s not that I don’t feel
bad for people who are down on their luck and have hit hard
times—it’s that this specific man is a drunk and he abandoned
his kid, so I don’t feel bad for him for a goddamn second.
After gulping down some water, he beams at my girl.
“You’re quite the cook, Tessie.”
I think I’ll scream if he calls her that one more time.
“Thank you.” She smiles, like the nice person she is. I can
tell his bullshit is seeping in, filling the emotional cracks he
created by leaving her when she was a child.
“I mean it; maybe you could teach me this recipe
sometime.”
For you to use where? In your nonexistent kitchen?
“Sure,” she says and stands to clear her plate, grabbing
mine on the way.
“I can go now. I appreciate dinner,” Richard—Dick—says
and stands.
“No, you can . . . you can stay tonight, if you want, and we
can take you back . . . home in the morning,” she says slowly,
unsure what words to use to describe his situation.
What I’m sure of is that I don’t like this shit at all.
“That would be great,” Dick says, rubbing his arms.
He’s probably itching for a drink right now, the fucking
prick.
Tessa smiles. “Great. I’ll go get a pillow and some sheets
from the bedroom.” Looking at her dad and me for a moment,
she must notice how I’m feeling, because she asks, “You
two’ll be okay for a minute, right?”
Her dad laughs. “Yeah, I want to get to know him anyway.”
Oh no, you don’t.
She frowns at my expression and saunters out of the room,
leaving us alone in the kitchen.
“So, Hardin, where did you meet my Tessa?” he asks. I hear
her close the door and wait a couple of beats to make sure
she’s not in earshot. “Hardin?” he repeats.
“Let’s get something straight,” I snarl and lean across the
table, startling him. “She isn’t your Tessa—she’s mine. And I
know what the fuck you’re up to, so don’t think for a goddamn
second you’re fooling me.”
He raises his hands meekly. “I’m not up to anything, I—”
“What do you want, money?”
“What? No, of course I don’t want money. I want a
relationship with my daughter.”
“You’ve had nine years to build one, and yet you’re only
here because you ran into her in a damn parking lot. It’s not
like you came looking for her,” I bark, having visions of my
hands around his neck.
“I know.” He shakes his head, looking down. “I know that I
made a lot of mistakes, and I’m going to make up for them.”
“You’re drunk—right now, sitting in my kitchen, you’re
fucking drunk. I know a drunk when I see one. I have no
sympathy for a man who leaves his family and doesn’t even
have his shit together nine years later.”
“I know your intentions are good, and it makes me happy to
see you try to defend my daughter, but I’m not going to mess
this up. I only want to get to know her . . . and you.”
I stay silent, trying to calm my irate thoughts.
“You’re much nicer when she’s around,” he observes
quietly.
“You’re worse of an actor when she’s not around,” I
retaliate.
“You have every right not to trust me, but for her sake, give
me a chance.”
“If you hurt her in any way, you are dead.” Maybe I should
feel a little remorse about threatening Tessa’s father like this,
but I only feel anger and distrust toward the pathetic drunk.
My instincts tell me to protect her, not to sympathize with a
drunk stranger.
“I won’t hurt her,” he promises.
I roll my eyes and take a drink from my glass of water.
Thinking his statement somehow settles it, he tries to joke,
“This talk—our roles should be reversed, you know?”
But I ignore him and walk into the bedroom. I have to,
before Tessa comes out to find me strangling her father.
chapter three
TESSA
I have a pillow, a blanket, and a towel in my hands when
Hardin storms into the bedroom
“Okay, what happened?” I ask, waiting for him to explode,
waiting for him to complain that I invited my father to stay
without really consulting him first.
Hardin goes to the bed and lies down on it, then looks over
at me. “Nothing. We bonded. Then I felt like I’d had enough
quality time with our guest, and decided to come in here.”
“Please tell me you weren’t horrible to him.” I barely know
my father. The last thing I want is more tension.
“I kept my hands to myself,” he says and closes his eyes.
“Guess I’ll take him a blanket and apologize for your
behavior, as always,” I say with annoyance.
In the living room, I find my father sitting on the floor,
picking at the holes in his jeans. He looks up when he hears
me. “You can sit on the couch,” I tell him and place my bundle
on the arm of the couch.
“I . . . well, I didn’t want to get anything on your couch.”
Embarrassment colors his expression, and my heart aches.
“Don’t worry about that . . . you can take a shower here,
and I’m sure Hardin has some clothes you can wear for the
night.”
He doesn’t look at me, but lightly protests, “I don’t want to
take advantage.”
“It’s okay, really. I’ll bring out some clothes; go ahead and
take a shower. Here’s a towel for you to use.”
He gives me a wan smile. “Thank you. I’m so glad to see
you again. I’ve missed you so much . . . and here you are.”
“I’m sorry if Hardin was rude to you. He’s . . .”
“Protective?” he finishes for me.
“Yeah, I guess he is. He comes off very rude sometimes.”
“It’s okay. I’m a man; I can take it. He’s just looking out for
you, and I don’t blame him. He doesn’t know me. Hell, neither
do you. He reminds me of someone I used to know . . .” My
father stops and smiles.
“Who?”
“Me . . . I was just like him. I didn’t have respect for
anyone who didn’t earn it, and I ran over anyone who got in
my way. I had the same chip on my shoulder that he has; the
only difference is he has a lot more tattoos than me.” He
chuckles, and the sound breathes life into memories I had long
forgotten.
I enjoy the feeling and smile along with him until he stands
up and grabs the towel. “I’m going to take you up on that
shower now.”
I tell him that I’ll bring him a change of clothes and place
them outside the bathroom door.
Back in our room, Hardin is still on the bed, eyes closed
and knees bent in front of him.
“He’s taking a shower. I told him he could wear some of
your clothes.”
He sits up. “Why would you do that?”
“Because he doesn’t have any clothes.” I walk toward the
bed, arms extended to calm him.
“Sure, Tessa, go ahead and give him my clothes,” he says
harshly. “Should I offer him my side of the bed, too?”
“You need to stop, now. He’s my father, and I’d like to see
where this is going to go. Just because you can’t forgive your
father doesn’t mean you have to sabotage my attempts to have
some kind of relationship with mine,” I reply, equally harshly.
Hardin stares at me. His green eyes narrow, no doubt from
the effort not to say out loud the hateful words he’s spewing at
me in his head.
“That’s not what this is; you’re too naive. How many times
do I have to tell you this? Not everyone deserves your
kindness, Tessa.”
I snap, “Only you, right? You’re the only one I should
forgive and give the benefit of the doubt to? That’s bullshit,
and really pretty selfish of you.” I dig through his bottom
drawer to grab a pair of sweats. “And you know what? I’d
rather be naive and capable of seeing the good in people than
be a jerk to everyone and assume that everyone is out to get
me.”
I gather up a shirt and some socks and storm out. As I’m
placing the pile of clothes by the bathroom door, I hear my
father’s voice singing softly over the sound of the water. I
press my ear to the door and can’t help but smile at the
wonderful noise. I remember my mother talking about my
father’s singing and how obnoxious it always was, but I find it
lovely.
I turn the television back on in the living room and set the
remote on the table to encourage him to watch what he wants.
Does he watch television?
I straighten up the kitchen, leaving some leftovers out on
the counter in case he’s still hungry. When was the last time he
had a real meal? I wonder again.
The water is still running in the bathroom; he must be
enjoying his hot shower, which tells me that he probably
hasn’t had a bath in a while.
Hardin has his new leather binder that I got him on his lap
when I finally go back to the bedroom. I walk by him without
making eye contact, but then feel his fingers wrap around my
arm to stop me.
“Can we talk?” he asks, pulling me to stand between his
legs. His hands quickly move his binder out of the way.
“Go ahead, talk.”
“I’m sorry for being a dick, okay? I just don’t know what to
think of all this.”
“All of what? Nothing has changed.”
“Yes, it has. This man who neither of us really knows is in
my house, and he wants to become close with you after all
these years. It doesn’t add up, and my first instinct is to be
defensive. You know that.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but you can’t be hateful and say
those things to me—like calling him a beggar. That really hurt
my feelings.”
He spreads my hands open with his, lacing his fingers
through mine while pulling me even closer to him. “I’m sorry,
baby, I really am.” He brings our hands to his mouth, slowly
kissing each of my knuckles, and my anger dissolves at the
touch of his soft lips.
I quirk one eyebrow. “Are you going to stop with the cruel
comments?”
“Yes.” He turns my hand over in his, tracing the lines
etched into my palm.
“Thank you.” I watch as his long finger travels up my wrist
and back down to my fingertips.
“Just be careful, okay? Because I won’t hesitate to—”
“He seems okay, though, doesn’t he? I mean he’s nice,” I
say quietly, interrupting his sure-to-be-violent promise.
Hardin’s fingers stop their movements. “I don’t know; he’s
nice enough, I guess.”
“He wasn’t nice when I was younger.”
Hardin looks at me with serious fire in his eyes, though his
words have a gentle tone to them. “Don’t talk about that while
he’s this close to me, please. I’m trying my best here, so let’s
not push it.”
I climb onto his lap, and he lies down with my body against
his.
“Tomorrow’s the big day.” He sighs.
“Yeah,” I whisper against his arm, nuzzling in his warmth.
Hardin’s expulsion hearing for beating up Zed is scheduled for
tomorrow; not our finest hour.
Suddenly a small feeling of panic shoots through me at the
memory of the text Zed sent me. I’d almost forgotten about it
altogether after seeing my father outside the shop. My phone
had vibrated in my pocket as we waited for Steph and Tristan’s
return, and Hardin had stared at me silently while I read it.
Fortunately he didn’t ask me what was up.
I need to talk to you tomorrow morning, alone please? Zed had written.
I don’t know what to make of the message; I don’t know if
I should talk to him about anything, considering he told
Tristan he was going to press charges against Hardin. I hope
he just said that to impress him, to keep his reputation. I don’t
know what I’ll do if Hardin gets in trouble—real trouble. I
should respond to the message, but I don’t think it’s the best
idea to meet Zed or to talk to him alone. Hardin’s already in
enough of a mess without me adding to it.
“Are you listening to me?” Hardin nudges me, and I look
up from the comfort of his embrace.
“No, sorry.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“Everything: tomorrow, the charges, expulsion, England,
Seattle, my father . . .” I sigh. “Everything.”
“You’ll come with me, though? To find out about the
expulsion?” His voice is smooth, yet nervous.
“If you want me to,” I say.
“I need you to.”
“Then I’ll be there.” I have to change the subject, so I say,
“I still can’t believe you got that tattoo. Let me see it again.”
He gently rolls me off of him so he can turn over. “Lift my
shirt.”
I lift the bottom of his black T-shirt until his entire back is
laid bare, and then I pull back the white bandage covering the
newly engraved words.
“There’s a little blood on the bandage,” I tell him.
“That’s normal,” he says, humor at my ignorance coming
through his words.
I outline the reddened area with my finger, taking in the
perfect words. The tattoo he got for me is my new favorite.
The perfect words—words that have so much meaning for me,
and for him as well, apparently. But they’re tainted by the
news I’ve chosen to withhold about moving to Seattle. I’ll tell
him tomorrow, as soon as we find out about the expulsion. I
promise myself one hundred times that I will; the longer I
wait, the more angry he’ll be.
“Is that enough of a commitment for you, Tessie?”
I scowl at him. “Don’t call me that.”
“I hate that nickname,” he says, turning his head up to look
at me while still lying on his stomach.
“Me, too, but I don’t want to tell him that. Anyway, the
tattoo is enough for me.”
“You’re sure? Because I can go back and get your portrait
underneath.” He laughs.
“No, please don’t!” I shake my head, and his laughter rises.
“You’re sure this’ll be enough?” He sits up and tugs his
shirt back down to cover his body. “No marriage,” he adds.
“That’s what this was? You got a tattoo as an alternative to
marriage?” I don’t know how I feel about this.
“No, not exactly. I got the tattoo because I wanted to, and
because I haven’t gotten one in a while.”
“Thoughtful.”
“It’s for you, too, to show you that I want this.” He gestures
between us, taking my hand in his. “Whatever this is that we
have, I don’t ever want to lose it. I’ve lost it before, and even
now I don’t completely have it back, but I can tell it’s getting
there.”
His hand feels warm, and so right holding on to mine.
“So once again, I used the words of a far more romantic
man than myself to get the point across.” He smiles a bright
smile, but I see the terror beneath it.
“I think Darcy would be appalled by your use of his famous
words,” I tease.
“I think he would high-five me,” he boasts.
My laughter comes out like a bark. “High-five? Fitzwilliam
Darcy would never do such a thing.”
“You think he’s above high fives? He’s not; he would sit
here and have a beer with me. We would bond over how
annoyingly stubborn the women in our lives are.”
“The two of you are lucky to have us, because the Lord
knows no one else would put up with either of you.”
“Is that so?” he challenges with a dimpled smile.
“Obviously,”
“You’re right, I suppose. But I’d trade you for Elizabeth in
a heartbeat.”
My mouth presses into a straight line, and I raise a brow,
expecting an explanation.
“Only because she shares my views on marriage.”
“But she still got married,” I remind him.
In a very un-Hardin-like move, he takes my hips in his
hands and pushes me back on the bed, so my head lands on the
mountain of decorative pillows that he despises—a fact he
never fails to remind me of. “That’s it! Darcy can have both of
you!” His laughter fills the room, and mine is equally
powerful.
These little dramas during which we bicker over fictional
characters and he laughs like a child are the moments that
make all the hell we’ve put each other through worth every
second. Moments like these shield me from the harsh realities
we’ve experienced throughout our relationship, and all the
obstacles that still lie in front of us.
“I can hear he’s out of the bathroom,” Hardin says, his tone
guarded.
“I’m going to say good night.” I wrestle out of Hardin’s
grip, placing a swift kiss on his forehead.
In the living room, I find that Hardin’s clothes look odd on
my father, but at least they fit better than I’d expected.
“Thanks again for the clothes. I’ll leave them here when I
go in the morning,” he tells me.
“It’s okay, you can take them . . . if you need them.”
He sits on the couch and rests his hands on his lap.“You’ve
already done enough for me, more than I deserve.”
“It’s okay, really.”
“You’re much more understanding than your mom.” He
smiles.
“I’m not sure I understand anything right now, but I want to
try to get to that point.”
“That’s all I’m asking for, just a little time to get to know
my little . . . well, my adult daughter.”
I give him a tight smile. “I’d like that.”
I know he has a long way to go, and I’m not forgiving him
overnight. But he’s my father, and I don’t have the energy to
hate him. I want to believe that he can change; I’ve seen it
happen before. Hardin’s father, for example, has completely
turned his life around, even if Hardin can’t let go of their
painful past. I’ve seen Hardin change, too. And since there
aren’t many people more stubborn than him, I figure there’s
hope for my father, no matter how bad he may have gotten.
“Hardin hates me. I’ve got my work cut out for me here.”
His sense of humor is contagious, and I chuckle. “Yes; yes,
you do.” I look down the hall at my scowling boyfriend in his
solid black clothes, watching us with suspicious eyes.
chapter four
TESSA
Turn it off,” Hardin groans as the alarm rings throughout the
dark bedroom.
My fingers fumble for my phone, and finally, with a swipe
of my thumb across the screen, the unwelcome sound stops.
My shoulders feel heavy as I sit up in bed, the weight of
today’s tensions threatening to pull me back down: the
university’s decision whether to expel Hardin, the possibility
of Zed pressing charges against him, and lastly, Hardin’s
potential reactions to my telling him I’m planning to follow
Vance Publishing to Seattle, and that I want him to come even
though he’s professed to hate the city.
I can’t decide which of these terrifies me the most. By the
time I turn the bathroom light on and splash cool water against
my face, I realize that the assault charges are the worst. If
Hardin is sent to jail, I honestly have no idea what I would do,
or what he would do. The thought alone makes me nauseous.
Zed’s request to meet with me this morning resurfaces, and my
mind reels with all the possibilities of what he could want to
talk about, especially since he said something about having
fallen “in love” with me the last time I saw him.
I inhale and exhale into the soft towel hanging on the wall.
Should I reply to Zed and at least see what he has to say?
Maybe he can offer an explanation for why he told Tristan one
thing and me another about pressing charges. I feel guilty for
asking him not to, especially considering how badly Hardin
hurt him, but I love Hardin, and Zed had the same intentions
as Hardin did, to win a bet, in the beginning. Neither of them
is purely innocent here.
Before I can overthink the possible repercussions, I text
Zed. I’m only trying to help Hardin. I remind myself of that
over and over after I hit send and obsess over my hair and
makeup.
WHEN I SEE that the blanket is folded neatly on the arm of
the couch, my heart sinks. He left? How will I get hold of him
—
The soft sound of a cabinet opening in the kitchen picks my
heart up from the floor. Going into the dark room, I switch the
light on and see my father startle and drop a spoon onto the
concrete floor with a clatter.
“Sorry, I was trying to be as quiet as possible,” my father
says as he quickly bends to retrieve the utensil.
“It’s okay. I was up. You could have turned the light on.” I
laugh quietly.
“I didn’t want to wake anyone. I was just trying to make
some cereal; I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course it is.” I start the coffee pot and check the clock.
I need to wake Hardin in fifteen minutes.
“What are your plans for today?” he asks with a mouth full
of Frosted Flakes, Hardin’s favorite.
“Well, I have class, and Hardin has a meeting with the
university board.”
“The university board? That sounds serious . . .”
I look at my father and wonder, Should I tell him? But then,
figuring I have to start somewhere, I say, “He got in a fight on
campus.”
“And they’re making him talk in front of the board? In my
day, you got a slap on the wrist, and that was that.”
“He destroyed a lot of property, expensive property, and he
broke the guy’s nose.” I sigh and stir a spoonful of sugar into
my coffee. I need the extra energy today.
“Nice. So what was the fight about?”
“Me, sort of. It was something that was building over time,
and it finally just . . . exploded.”
“Well, I like Hardin even more now than I did last night.”
He beams. Though I’m glad that he’s warming to my
boyfriend, it’s not for a good reason. I don’t want the two of
them bonding over violence.
I shake my head and gulp down half my coffee, letting the
hot liquid soothe my frantic nerves.
“Where’s he from?” He sounds genuinely interested in
learning more about Hardin.
“England.”
“Thought that was the accent. Though sometimes I can’t
tell it from Australian. So his family’s still there?”
“His mother is. His father’s here. He’s the chancellor at
WCU.”
Curiosity fills his brown eyes. “Ironic, then, about the
expulsion.”
“Very.” I sigh.
“Your mother’s met him?” he asks, then takes a big
spoonful of cereal.
“Yes, she hates him.” I frown.
“ ‘Hate’ is a strong word.”
“Trust me, in this case it’s not strong enough.” The ache
from the loss of my relationship with my mother is much less
potent than it used to be. I don’t know whether that’s a good
thing or not.
My father puts down his spoon and nods several times.
“She can be a little hardheaded; she just worries about you.”
“She doesn’t need to. I’m fine.”
“Well, let her be the one to come around, then; you
shouldn’t have to choose one or the other.” He smiles. “Your
grandma didn’t approve of me either—she’s probably
scowling at me from her grave as we speak.”
This is all so strange, sitting in my kitchen with my father,
bonding over cereal and coffee after all these years. “It’s just
hard because we’ve always been close . . . as close as she’s
capable of, at least.”
“She always wanted you to be just like her; she made sure
of that from a young age. She’s not a bad person, Tessie. She’s
just afraid.”
I look at him quizzically. “Of what?”
“Everything. She’s afraid of losing control. I’m sure seeing
you with Hardin terrified her and made her realize she doesn’t
have control over you anymore.”
I stare at the empty cup in front of me. “Is that why you
left? Because she wanted to control everything?”
My father sighs softly, an ambiguous sound. “No, I left
because I have my own issues and we weren’t good for one
another. Don’t worry about us.” He chuckles. “Worry about
yourself and your troublemaker of a boyfriend.”
I can’t picture the man in front of me and my mother being
able to hold a conversation; they are just so different. When I
glance at the clock, I realize it’s past eight.
I get up and put my cup in the dishwasher. “I need to wake
up Hardin. I threw your clothes in the wash last night. I’ll get
dressed and bring them out.”
I go into the bedroom and see that Hardin is awake. As I
watch him pulling a black T-shirt over his head, I suggest,
“Maybe you should wear something a little more formal to the
meeting?”
“Why?”
“Because they’re deciding your educational future, and a
black T-shirt doesn’t show much effort on your end. You can
change right after, but I really think you should dress up.”
“Fuuuuuck.” He exaggerates the word and throws his head
back.
I walk past him and into the closet to retrieve his black
button-up shirt and pants.
“No dress slacks—for the love of God, no.”
I hand the pants to him. “It’s only for a little while.”
He holds the garment like it’s nuclear waste or an alien
artifact. “If I wear this shit and they still kick me out, I’ll burn
that whole campus to the ground.”
“You’re so dramatic.” I roll my eyes at him, but he doesn’t
look amused as he steps into the dress pants.
“Is our apartment still operating as a homeless shelter?”
I drop the shirt, still on the hanger, onto the bed and march
to the door.
Frantic fingers lace through his hair. “Dammit, Tess, I’m
sorry. I’m getting anxious, and I can’t even fuck you to settle
me down because your dad is on our couch.”
His vulgar words stir my hormones, but he’s right: my
father in the other room is a big impediment. I walk over to
Hardin, whose long fingers are struggling with the top button
on his shirt, and gently move his hands out of the way. “Let
me,” I offer.
His eyes soften, but I can tell he’s beginning to panic. I hate
seeing him this way; it’s so foreign. He’s so controlled all the
time, never caring much for anything—except me, and even
then he’s still pretty good at hiding his feelings.
“Everything will be fine, babe. It’ll work out.”
“Babe?” His smile is instant, and so is the flush in my
cheeks.
“Yes . . . babe.” I adjust the collar of his shirt, and he leans
over to kiss the tip of my nose.
“You’re right; worst-case scenario, we go to England.”
I ignore his comment and return to the closet to pick out my
own clothes for the day. “Do you think they’ll let me
accompany you inside?” I ask him, unsure what to wear.
“You want to?”
“If they allow it.” I grab the new purple dress that I planned
to wear to Vance tomorrow. I undress and put it on as quickly
as possible. I slip on some black heels and exit the closet with
my hands holding up the front of the dress. “Can you help
me?” I ask Hardin, turning my back to him.
“You’re purposely torturing me.” His fingertips travel
across my exposed shoulders and down my back, leaving
goose bumps in their wake.
“Sorry.” My mouth is dry.
He slowly raises the zipper, and I shiver as his lips press
against the sensitive skin on the back of my neck. “We need to
get going,” I tell him, and he groans, fingers digging into my
hips.
“I’m going to call my dad on the way. Are we dropping
the . . . your dad off somewhere?”
“I’ll ask him now; can you grab my bag?” I say, and he
nods.
“Tess?” he calls as my hand hits the doorknob. “I like that
dress. And you. Well, I love you, of course . . . and your new
dress,” he rambles. “I love you, and your fancy clothes.”
I curtsy and do a little three-sixty so he can see me. As
much as I hate Hardin being nervous, it’s also very appealing
to me, because it reminds me that he’s not so tough after all.
In the living room, my father is sitting on the couch, having
fallen back asleep. I don’t know if I should wake him up or
just leave him here to rest until we get back from campus.
“Let him sleep,” Hardin answers, sensing my thoughts as
he walks up behind me.
I quickly scribble a note for him explaining when we’ll
return, along with our phone numbers. I doubt he has a cell
phone, but I leave them just in case.
The drive to campus is short, too short, and Hardin looks
like he’s going to either scream or punch something at any
moment. When we arrive, he scans the parking lot for Ken’s
car.
“He said to meet him here,” Hardin says, checking the
screen on his phone for the fifth time in five minutes.
“There he is.” I point to the silver car pulling into the lot.
“Finally. What the fuck took him so long?”
“Be nice to him; he’s doing this for you. Please, just be nice
to him,” I beg, and he sighs in frustration but agrees.
Ken has brought his wife, Karen, and Hardin’s stepbrother,
Landon, which surprises Hardin and makes me smile. I love
them so much for supporting him, even when he acts like he
doesn’t want their help.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Hardin says to
Landon as they approach us.
“Don’t you?” Landon retaliates, which makes Hardin
laugh.
Listening to their exchange, Karen smiles with a brightness
completely at odds with how she first appeared when she
emerged from Ken’s car.
As we walk toward the administrative building, Ken says,
“I’m hoping this won’t last long. I’ve been calling everyone I
can to pull as many strings as possible, so I’m praying for the
best.” He stops for a minute and turns to Hardin. “Let me do
the talking in there—I mean it.” Watching for his son’s
response, he waits for him to agree.
“Okay, yeah,” Hardin says without argument.
Ken nods and swings the big wooden doors open, leading
us all inside. Over his shoulder, Ken says authoritatively,
“Tessa, I’m sorry, but you can’t come inside the room with us.
I didn’t want to push it, but you can wait right outside.” He
turns and gives me a sympathetic smile.
But Hardin immediately goes into full panic mode. “What
do you mean she can’t come inside? I need her in there!”
“I know you do. I’m sorry, but it’s family only,” his father
explains as he leads us down the hall. “Unless she was a
witness, but even then, that’s a huge conflict of interest.”
Ken stops us in front of a conference room and muses, “It’s
not like I’m not engaged in a conflict of interest, being the
chancellor. But you’re my son, and let’s at least have only one
conflict, okay?”
I turn to Hardin. “He’s right, and it’ll be better this way. It’s
okay,” I assure him.
He lets go of my hand and nods, looking past me to shoot
daggers at his father, who sighs and says, “Hardin, please try
your best to—”
Hardin holds up one hand. “I will, I will,” he says and
kisses my forehead.
As the four of them walk into the room, I want to ask
Landon to wait with me, but I know Hardin needs him in
there, whether he’ll admit it or not. I feel so useless just sitting
here outside this room while a group of stuffy men in suits
decides Hardin’s educational future. Well, maybe there’s one
way I can help . . .
I pull my phone out and text Zed. I’m at the administrative building,
can you come here?
I stare at the screen, waiting for a reply, and my phone
lights up less than a minute later: Yes, I’m on my way.
I’ll be outside, I send.
With one last glance at the door, I head outside. It’s cold,
too cold to be waiting out here in a knee-length dress, but I
don’t have much of a choice.
AFTER WAITING AWHILE, I’ve just decided to go back
inside when Zed’s old truck pulls into the parking lot. He steps
out, wearing a black sweatshirt and dark-wash jeans. The deep
bruising on his face shocks me, despite the fact that I just saw
him yesterday.
He tucks his hands into the pocket on the front of his
sweatshirt. “Hey.”
“Hey. Thanks for meeting me.”
“It was my idea, remember?” He smiles, and I feel slightly
less unsettled.
I smile in return. “I guess you’re right.”
“I want to talk to you about what you said at the hospital,”
he says, which was exactly what I was planning to talk about.
“So do I.”
“You go first.”
“Steph said you told Tristan you’re pressing charges against
Hardin.” I try not to look at his bruised and bloodshot eyes.
“I did.”
“But you told me you wouldn’t press charges. Why lie to
me?” I’m sure the hurt is clear in my shaky voice.
“I didn’t lie to you; I meant it when I said it.”
I step closer to him. “So what changed your mind?”
He shrugs. “A lot of things. I thought about all the shit he’s
done to me, and to you. He doesn’t deserve to just walk away
from this.” He gestures to his face. “Look at me, for God’s
sake.”
I’m not sure what to say to Zed in this moment. He has
every right to be upset with Hardin, but I wish he wouldn’t
take legal action against him.
“He’s already in trouble with the university board,” I say,
hoping to change his mind.
“He’s not going to get in trouble; Steph told me his dad’s
the chancellor,” he scoffs.
Dammit, Steph—why would you tell him that? I nod to
acknowledge what he said. “That doesn’t mean he won’t get in
trouble.”
But my saying this only makes him exasperated. “Tessa,
why are you always so quick to defend him? No matter what
he does, you’re right there to fight his battles for him!”
“That’s not true,” I lie.
“Yes, it is!” He throws his hands up in disbelief. “You know
it is! You told me you’d think about what I said about leaving
him, but then I see you with him at a tattoo shop days later. It
doesn’t make sense.”
“I know you don’t understand, but I love him.”
“If you love him so much, then why are you running away
to Seattle?”
His words rattle me. I pause for a second, but say, “I’m not
running to Seattle. I’m going there for a better opportunity.”
“He’s not coming with you. Our group of friends talk, you
know?”
What? “He was planning to,” I lie. But I can tell Zed sees
right through it.
With challenge in his eyes, he looks off to the side, then
levels his stare at me. “If you can tell me that you have no
feelings toward me, none at all, I’ll drop the charges.”
Right then, the air seems to grow colder, the wind stronger.
“What?”
“You heard me. Tell me to leave you alone and never speak
to you again, and I’ll do it.” His request reminds me of
something Hardin said to me long ago.
“But I don’t want that; I don’t want to never talk again,” I
admit.
“So what do you want, then?” he asks, his voice tinged with
sadness and anger. “Because you seem to be just as confused
as I am! You keep texting me and meeting up with me; you
kiss me, sleep in the same bed as me; you always come to me
when he hurts you! What do you want from me?”
I thought I’d made my intentions clear at the hospital. “I
don’t know what I want from you, but I love him and that’s
never going to change. I’m sorry that I gave you mixed
signals, but I—”
“Tell me why you’re going to Seattle in a week and haven’t
told him!” he shouts back at me, his arms waving in front of
his body.
“I don’t know . . . I’m going to tell him when I get the
chance.”
“You won’t tell him because you know he’ll leave you,”
Zed snaps, his eyes looking past me.
“He . . . well . . .” I don’t know what to say—because I
really fear Zed’s right.
“Well, guess what, Tessa? You can thank me later.”
“For what?” I watch as his lips turn up into a wicked smile.
Zed lifts his arm up, gesturing behind me, and a shiver
rakes through me. “For telling him for you.”
I know that when I turn around, Hardin will be standing
there. I swear I can hear his ragged breathing over the harsh
winter wind.
chapter five
HARDIN
When I’d stepped outside, the wind whipped around me,
carrying the one voice I didn’t expect to hear right now. I’d
just had to endure hearing a lot of people say a lot of bad
things about me, and I just had to remain quiet. And afterward,
all I wanted to hear was the voice of my girl, my angel.
And there was her voice. But there was also his. I turn the
corner, and indeed, there he is. There they are. Tessa and Zed.
My first thoughts were: Why the fuck is he here? Why the
fuck is Tessa outside talking to him? What part of “stay the
fuck away from him” does she not fucking get?
When that motherfucker raised his voice at her, I started
walking toward them: nobody yells at her like that. But when
he mentioned Seattle . . . I was stopped in my tracks. Tessa is
planning to go to Seattle?
And Zed knew, but I didn’t?
This isn’t happening, this can’t actually be happening. She
would never plan to leave without telling me . . .
Zed’s wild eyes and shit-eating grin mock me as I try to
collect my fucked-up thoughts. When Tessa turns to me, her
movements are painstakingly slow. Her blue-gray eyes are
wide, pupils blown out in surprise when they meet mine.
“Hardin . . .” I can see she’s saying the words, but her voice
is small, lost in the wind.
Unsure what to say, I stand still while my mouth drops
open, closes, opens—back and forth in an endless pattern until
the words finally fall from my lips. “So this was your plan,
then?” I manage.
She pushes her hair back from her face, her mouth turns to
a frown immediately, and she rubs her hands up and down her
arms, which are crossed in front of her chest.
“No! It’s not like that, Hardin, I—”
“You two are quite the fucking schemers, aren’t you?
You . . .” I point to the bastard. “You fucking scheme and plot
behind my back and try to make a move on my girl, over and
fucking over. No matter what I do, no matter how many times
I pound your goddamned face in, you still keep crawling back
like a fucking cockroach.”
Amazingly, he dares to speak. “She’s—”
“And you . . .” I point to the blond girl who has my world
under the sharp heel of her black shoe. “You—you keep
playing mind games with me, acting like you give a fuck,
when really you’ve been planning to leave me this entire time!
You know I won’t go to Seattle, yet you’re planning to run off
—without telling me!”
Her eyes glassy, she pleads with me. “That’s why I hadn’t
told you yet, Hardin, because—”
“Stop fucking talking,” I say, and her hand moves to her
chest, like my words are causing her pain.
Maybe they are. Maybe I want them to, so she can feel
what I feel.
How could she humiliate me this way—in front of Zed, of
all people?
“Why is he here?” I ask her.
There is no evidence of his smug grin when she turns to
look at him before looking back at me. “I asked him to meet
me here.”
I stagger back in mock surprise. Or maybe it’s real surprise
—I can’t tell what these feelings really are, rushing through
me so quickly. “Well, there we go! The two of you obviously
have something special here.”
“I only wanted to talk to him about the charges. I’m trying
to help you, Hardin. Please, just listen to me.” She steps
toward me, moving her hair from her face again.
I shake my head. “Bullshit! I heard your entire
conversation. If you don’t want him, tell him right now, in
front of me.”
Her watery eyes plead silently for me to give in and not
make her humiliate him in front of me, but it doesn’t sway me.
“Now, or I’m done with you.” My own words burn like
acid on my tongue.
“I don’t want you, Zed,” she says, facing me. Her words are
rushed, panicked, and I know it’s hurting her to say them.
“At all?” I ask, mimicking Zed’s grin from earlier.
“At all.” She frowns, and he runs his hands through his
hair.
“You never want to see him again,” I instruct. “Turn and
tell him that.”
But it’s Zed who speaks up. “Hardin, just stop. Leave it
alone. I got the message. You don’t have to play into his sick
game, Tessa. I get it,” he says. He looks pathetic, like a sad
child.
“Tessa . . .” I start, but when she looks up at me, what I see
behind her eyes nearly brings me to my knees. Disgust—she is
full of disgust for me.
She takes a step toward me. “No, Hardin, I won’t do it. Not
because I want to be with him—because I don’t. I love you—
only you—but you’re only doing this to prove a point, and it’s
ugly, and it’s cruel, and I won’t help you.” She bites the inside
of her cheek, trying not to cry.
What the hell am I doing?
With fiery intensity, she tells me, “I’m going home; when
you want to talk about Seattle, that’s where I’ll be.” With that,
she turns to walk away.
“You don’t have a way to get home!” I call to her.
Zed reaches out an arm in her direction. “I’ll take her,” he
says.
Which breaks something in me. “If I wasn’t already in a
bunch of shit because of you, I would kill you right now. I
don’t just mean break a bone, I mean I would literally crack
your skull open against the concrete and watch you bleed out
all over this—”
“Stop it!” Tessa yells as she turns, covering her ears.
“Tessa, if you—” Zed says softly.
“Zed, I appreciate everything you’ve done, but you really
need to stop.” She tries to sound stern but fails miserably.
With a final sigh, he turns on his heel and walks away.
I head to the car, and as soon as I’m near it, my father and
Landon appear—of fucking course. I hear the click of Tessa’s
heels behind me.
“We’re going,” I tell them before they can get a word in.
“I’ll call you in a little while,” she says to Landon.
“You’re still going Wednesday, right?” he asks her.
She smiles at him, a fake smile to mask the panic behind
her eyes. “Yeah, of course.”
Landon glares at me, obviously noticing the tension
between us. Does he know about her plan? Probably—he
probably helped her develop it.
I climb into the car, not even trying to hide my lack of
patience.
“I’ll call you,” she says again to Landon and waves
goodbye to my father before getting in. I immediately turn the
music off as she buckles her seat belt.
“Go ahead,” she says, no emotion in her voice.
“What?”
“Go ahead and scream at me. I know you’re going to.”
I’m stunned into silence by her assumption. Granted, I had
planned on yelling at her, but the way she just expects it
throws me off guard.
But of course she expects it—that’s what always happens.
That’s what I do . . .
“Well?” Her lips are pressed in a hard line.
“I’m not going to yell at you.”
She glances over at me momentarily before focusing at
some point out beyond the window.
“I don’t know what to do except scream at you . . . that’s
the problem.” I sigh in defeat, my forehead resting against the
steering wheel.
“I wasn’t planning this behind your back, Hardin, not
purposely.”
“It sure as hell seems that way.”
“I would never do that to you. I love you. You’ll understand
when we go over it.”
Her words bounce right off of me as anger takes over. “I
understand you’re moving—soon. I don’t even know when—
and we live together, Tessa. We share a fucking bed, and
you’re going to just leave me? I always knew you would.”
I hear the click of her seat belt and then feel her hand
pushing me back by the shoulders. Within seconds she’s on
my lap, bare thighs straddling me, cold arms wrapped around
my neck, her tear-soaked face buried in my chest.
“Get off of me,” I say, attempting to unwrap her arms from
me.
“Why do you always assume I’m going to leave you?” She
tightens her grip.
“Because you will.”
“I’m not going to Seattle to leave you, I’m going for myself
and my career. It’s always been my plan to go there, and this is
an incredible opportunity. I asked Mr. Vance while we were
figuring out what we were going to do, and I planned on
telling you so many times, but you either cut me off or didn’t
want to talk about anything serious.”
All I can think of is her packing her bags and leaving me
with nothing but some bullshit note on the counter. “Don’t you
dare try to blame me.” My voice doesn’t hold as much
conviction as I intended.
“I’m not blaming you, but I knew you wouldn’t be
supportive; you know how important this is to me.”
“What are you going to do, then? If you go, I can’t be with
you. I love you, Tessa, but I’m not going to Seattle.”
“Why? You don’t even know if you’d like it or not. We
could at least try it, and if you hate it, we could go to
England . . . maybe,” she says with a sniffle.
“You don’t know if you’ll like Seattle either.” I look at her
with blank eyes. “I’m sorry, but you have to choose: me or
Seattle.”
She looks up at me for a moment, then moves back to the
passenger seat without a word.
“You don’t have to decide right now, but time is running
out.” I put the car in drive and pull out of the small space.
“I can’t believe you’re making me choose.” She doesn’t
look at me.
“You knew how I felt about Seattle. You’re lucky I kept my
cool back there when you were with him.”
“I’m ‘lucky’?” she scoffs.
“This day is shit already; let’s not fight about it. I’m going
to need an answer by Friday. Unless, of course, you’ll be gone
by then.” The idea sends a chill through my body.
I know she’ll choose me—she has to. We can go to England
and get away from all this bullshit. She hasn’t said a word
about missing classes today, which I’m glad for, since that’s
another fight I don’t want to have.
“You’re being so selfish,” she accuses.
I don’t argue, because I know she’s right. But I do say,
“Well, some might say selfish is also not telling someone
when they plan on leaving them. Where are you going to live?
Do you already have a place?”
“No, I was going to look for one tomorrow. We leave
Wednesday for the trip with your family.” It takes me a
moment to realize who she’s referring to.
“We?”
“You said you’d go . . .”
“I’m still trying to recover from this Seattle shit, Tessa.” I
know I’m being an asshole, but this is so fucked up. “And let’s
not forget you calling Zed,” I add, doubling down.
Tessa stays silent as I drive. I have to look over at her
multiple times to make sure she’s still awake.
“Are you not speaking to me now?” I finally ask her as we
approach the parking lot of our . . . my apartment.
“I don’t know what to say.” Her voice is quiet, defeated.
I park, and it hits me. Shit. “You’re dad’s still here, isn’t
he?”
“I don’t know where else he would go . . .” she says
without looking at me.
We get out of the car, and I say, “Well, when we get
upstairs, I’ll ask him where he needs to be dropped off at.”
“No, I’ll take him,” she mumbles.
Even though my girl’s walking next to me, she seems miles
away.
chapter six
TESSA
I’m too disappointed in Hardin to argue, and he’s too pissed at
me to speak without screaming. He actually handled the news
better than I thought he would, but how could he make me
choose? He knows how important Seattle is to me, and it’s not
like he has a problem with me giving something up for him—
that’s what hurts me the most. He always says he can’t be
away from me, that he can’t live without me, yet he’s giving
me an ultimatum, and it’s not fair.
“If he took off with any of our shit . . .” Hardin begins as
we get to the door.
“Enough.” Hopefully my exhaustion is heard through my
soft dismissal, so he won’t press it.
“Just saying.”
I push my key into the lock and twist, momentarily
considering the possibility of what Hardin has mentioned. I
don’t know the man, really.
Any paranoia I have disappears when we walk inside. My
father’s body is slumped over the arm of the couch. His mouth
is wide open, and deep snores escape from his parted lips.
Without another word, Hardin walks into the bedroom and I
go to the kitchen for a glass of water and a minute to think
about my next step. The last thing that I want to do is fight
with Hardin, but I’m beyond sick of him only thinking of
himself. I know he has changed so much, tried so hard, but
I’ve given him chance after chance, resulting in an endless
breakup-makeup cycle that would make even Catherine
Earnshaw cringe. I don’t know how long I can keep my head
above water when I’m fighting off the tidal wave that we call a
relationship. Every time I feel like I’ve learned to tread its
waters, I’m sucked back under by yet another conflict with
Hardin.
After a few moments, I get up and look over at my father:
still snoring in a way I would find amusing if I wasn’t so
preoccupied. Deciding on a course of action, I head into the
bedroom.
Hardin is lying on his back, his arms tucked under his head
as he stares at the ceiling. I’m about to speak when he breaks
the silence.
“I got expelled. Just in case you were wondering.”
I turn to him quickly, my heart racing. “What?”
“Yep. Sure did.” He shrugs his shoulders.
“I’m so sorry. I should have asked earlier.” I thought for
sure Ken could get his son out of this mess. I’m devastated for
him.
“It’s okay. You were otherwise occupied with Zed and plans
for Seattle, remember?”
I sit on the edge of the bed, as far from him as possible, and
try my best to bite my tongue. It’s a wasted effort. “I was
trying to find out about the charges against you. He says he’s
still—”
He interrupts me with his eyebrows raised in mockery. “I
heard him. I was there, remember?”
“Hardin, I’ve had enough of your attitude. I know you’re
upset, but you need to stop being so disrespectful.” I speak
slowly, hoping the words sink in.
He’s dumbfounded for a moment, but he quickly recovers.
“Excuse me?”
I try to keep the most neutral, if stern, expression I can
manage. “You heard me: stop talking to me like that.”
“I’m sorry—I get kicked out of school, then find you with
him, then learn you’re going to Seattle. I’d say I’m entitled to
be a little angry.”
“Yes, you are, but you aren’t entitled to be a jerk. I was
hoping we could actually talk about this and work it out like
adults . . . for once.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He sits up, but I keep my
distance.
“It means that after six months of this back-and-forth, I
thought we could possibly solve a problem without one of us
leaving or breaking things.”
“Six months?” His jaw drops.
“Yes, six months.” Awkwardly, I avoid his eyes. “Well,
since we met.”
“I hadn’t realized it’s been that long.”
“Well, it has.” It feels like a lifetime to me.
“It doesn’t feel like that long . . .”
“Is that a problem for you? We’ve been seeing each other
too long?” I finally meet his green eyes.
“No, Tessa, it’s just odd to think about, I guess. I’ve never
been in an actual relationship, so six months is a long time.”
“Well, we haven’t been dating the entire time. Most of it
was spent fighting or avoiding one another,” I remind him.
“How long, exactly, were you with Noah?”
His question surprises me. We’ve had a few talks regarding
my relationship with Noah, but they usually last less than five
minutes, ending abruptly because of Hardin’s jealousy.
“We were best friends since I can remember, but only
started dating halfway through high school. I think we’d
basically been dating before then but we just didn’t realize it.”
I watch Hardin with careful eyes, waiting for a reaction.
Talking about Noah makes me miss him—not in a romantic
way, but in that way you miss your family after not seeing
them for an extended period.
“Oh.” He rests his hands in his lap, making me want to
reach across and hold them. “Did you fight?”
“Sometimes. Our fights were over things like what movie
to watch, or him being late to pick me up.”
He doesn’t look up from his hands. “Not like we fight,
then?”
“I don’t think anyone fights like we do.” I smile in an
attempt to reassure him.
“What else did you do? With him, I mean,” he says, and I
swear that sitting in Hardin’s place on the bed there is now a
small child, green eyes bright, hands nearly shaking.
I give a gentle shrug. “We didn’t do much, really, outside of
studying and watching hundreds of movies. We were more like
best friends, I guess.”
“You loved him,” the child reminds me.
“Not the way that I love you,” I tell him, just like I have
countless times before.
“Would you have given up Seattle for him?” He picks at the
rough skin around his fingernails. When he looks at me, his
insecurity shines through his eyes.
So this is why we’re talking about Noah: Hardin’s low self-
esteem has once again taken his thoughts there, to that place
where he compares himself to whatever or whomever he
thinks that I need.
“No.”
“Why not?” I reach for his hand to comfort the childlike
worry inside of him.
“Because I shouldn’t have to choose at all, and he always
knew about my plans and dreams, so I wouldn’t have had to
choose.”
“I don’t have anything in Seattle.” He sighs.
“Me . . . you’d have me.”
“That’s not enough.”
Oh . . . I turn away from him.
“I know that’s fucked up, but it’s true. I have nothing there,
and you’ll have this new job, and you’ll make new friends—”
“You’d have a new job, too. Christian said he’d give you a
job—and we would make new friends together.”
“I don’t want to work for him—and the people you’d
choose as friends are more than likely not going to be the same
people I would choose. It would just be so different out there.”
“You don’t know that. I’m friends with Steph.”
“Only because you were roommates. I don’t want to move
there, Tessa, especially now that I’ve been expelled. It makes
more sense for me to just go back to England and finish
university there.”
“This shouldn’t only be about what makes sense for you.”
“Considering that you went behind my back and saw Zed
yet again, you aren’t exactly in any position to be calling the
shots.”
“Really? Because you and I haven’t even established that
we’re together again. I agreed to move back in, and you agreed
to treat me better.” I stand up from the bed and begin to pace
across the concrete floor. “But you went behind my back and
beat him up, resulting in your expulsion—so if anyone isn’t in
a position to call the shots, it’s you.”
“You were hiding this from me!” He raises voice. “You’ve
been planning to leave me and didn’t tell me!”
“I know! I’m sorry for that, but instead of arguing over
who’s the most wrong here, why don’t we try to fix it or come
to some sort of compromise?”
“You . . .” He stops and stands up from the bed. “You
don’t . . .”
“What?” I press.
“I don’t know, I can’t even think straight because of how
mad I am at you.”
“I’m sorry for you finding out that way, but I don’t know
what else to say.”
“Say that you won’t go.”
“I’m not making that choice right now. I shouldn’t have to.”
“When then? I won’t wait around—”
“What are you going to do, then—leave? What happened to
‘I never wish to be parted from you from this day on’?”
“Really? You’re going to bring that up? You don’t think an
ideal time to bring up Seattle would be before I got a fucking
tattoo for you? The irony isn’t lost on me.” He steps closer to
me, challenging me.
“I was going to!”
“But you didn’t.”
“How many times are you going to mention that? We can
go back and forth all day, but I really don’t have the energy.
I’m over it,” I say.
“Over it? You’re over it?” He half laughs.
“Yes, over it.” It’s true, I’m over fighting with him about
Seattle. It’s suffocating and frustrating, and I’ve had just about
enough.
He grabs a black sweatshirt from the closet and pulls it over
his head before slipping his boots onto his feet.
“Where are you going?” I demand.
“Away from here,” he huffs.
“Hardin, you don’t have to leave,” I call as he opens the
door, but he ignores me.
If my father wasn’t in the living room, I’d chase after him
and force him to stay.
But honestly, I’m tired of chasing him.
chapter seven
HARDIN
Tessa’s father is awake now, sitting on the couch with his
arms crossed in front of his chest and staring blankly out the
window.
“Do you need a ride somewhere?” I ask him. I’m not
thrilled with the idea of taking him anywhere, but I sure as hell
despise the idea of leaving him alone with her.
He snaps his head my direction as if startled. “Um, yeah, is
that okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I quickly answer.
“Okay, I just want to say goodbye to Tessie.” He looks
toward our bedroom.
“Fine. I’ll be in the car.”
I head out the door, unsure of exactly where I’m going after
I drop the old fool off, but I know it’s not good for either of us
if I stay here. I’m so angry with myself. I know she’s not the
only one to blame here, but I’m used to lashing out at people,
and she’s always with me, making her an easy target. Which
makes me a pathetic motherfucker, I know. I keep my eyes
trained on the entrance to our apartment building, waiting for
Richard. If he doesn’t come soon, I’ll leave his ass here. But
then I sigh at the thought, since I really don’t want to leave
him here with her.
At last, the Father of the Year steps through the door and
pulls down the sleeves of his shirt. I had expected him to wear
the clothes of mine that Tessa gave him, but he’s dressed in his
clothes from yesterday, only now they’re clean. Damn Tessa,
she’s too fucking nice.
I turn the volume up on the radio as he opens the passenger
door, hoping that the music will halt any conversation he
might try to make.
No luck. “She said to tell you to be careful,” he says as
soon as he gets in, then buckles his seat belt like he’s trying to
show me how to do it. Like he’s some airline hostess. I give
him a small nod and pull onto the street.
“How did your meeting go today?” he asks.
“Really?” I raise my brow at him.
“Just wondering.” He taps his fingers on his leg. “I’m glad
she went with you.”
“Okay.”
“She seems to be a lot like her mother.”
I shoot a look at him. “The hell she is. She’s nothing like
that woman.” Is he trying to get himself thrown out onto the
highway?
He laughs. “The good qualities only, of course. She’s very
headstrong, just like Carol. She wants what she wants, but
Tessie is much sweeter, gentler.”
Here we go with the Tessie bullshit again.
“I heard the two of you fighting. It woke me up.”
I roll my eyes. “Excuse us for waking you up at noon while
you were sleeping on our couch.”
Again, I’m met with a chuckle. “I get it, man—you’re
angry at the world. I was, too. Hell, I still am. But when you
find someone who’s willing to put up with your shit, you don’t
have to be so angry anymore.”
Well, old-timer, what do you suggest I do when your
daughter is the one making me so goddamn angry? “Look, I’ll
admit you aren’t as bad as I thought you were, but I didn’t ask
for your advice, so don’t waste your time giving it to me.”
“I’m not giving you advice, I’m speaking from experience
here. I’d hate to see the two of you end things.”
We aren’t ending things, Dick. I’m just trying to get my
point across. I want to be with her, and I will be; she just needs
to give in and come with me. I’m beyond fucking angry that
she’d bring Zed into this shit again, regardless of her
reasoning.
I turn the damn radio off. “You don’t even know me—or
her, for that matter. Why would you care?”
“Because I know you’re good for her.”
“Do you?” I reply, sarcasm in full bloom. Thankfully we’re
getting closer to his side of town, so this horrid conversation
will be ending soon.
“Yes, I do.”
Then it strikes me, and I’ll never admit it to anyone, but it’s
actually sort of nice to have someone say I’m good for her,
even if it’s her drunk asshole of a father. I’ll take it.
“Are you going to be seeing her again?” I ask, and then
quickly add, “And where exactly am I taking you?”
“Just drop me near the shop where we met yesterday; I’ll
figure it out from there. And yes, I hope to be seeing her again.
I have a lot of shit to make up for.”
“Yeah, you do,” I agree.
The parking lot next to the tattoo parlor is empty, which
makes some sense, since it’s not even one in the afternoon yet.
“Can you drive me to the end of this street?” he asks.
I nod and pass the shop. The only thing at the end of this
street is a bar and a run-down Laundromat.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“Yep.”
“Do you want to come inside?” Richard asks, nodding
toward the small bar.
Getting a drink with Tessa’s homeless drunk father doesn’t
sound like the most intelligent thing to do at the moment.
However, I’m not known for making good decisions. “Fuck
it,” I mumble and turn the car off and follow him inside. It’s
not like I had anywhere in mind to go anyway.
The bar is dark and smells like mold and whiskey.
Following him to the small counter, I grab a stool, leaving an
empty seat between us. A middle-aged woman wearing what I
pray are her teenage daughter’s clothes walks toward us.
Without a word she slides Richard a small glass filled with
whiskey and ice.
“And for you?” she asks me, her voice raspy and deeper
than mine.
“Same as him.”
Tessa’s voice warning me not to do this is clear as a bell
between my ears. I push it away, push her away.
I raise the glass, and we toast and each take a sip. “How can
you afford to be a drunk if you don’t work?” I ask.
“I clean the place every other day, so I drink for free.”
Shame is clear in his voice.
“Why not be sober and get paid, then?”
“I don’t know; I tried and tried.” He stares at his glass with
hooded eyes, and for a second they resemble mine. I can see a
shadow of myself in them. “I’m hoping now it’ll get easier if I
can see my daughter more often.”
I nod, not even bothering to hit him with a snide remark,
and instead wrap my fingers around the cool glass. I welcome
the familiar burn of scotch as I tip my head back and finish the
rest. When I push it across the semipolished bar top, the
woman makes eye contact and then starts pouring me another.
chapter eight
TESSA
Your dad?” Landon says incredulously through the phone.
I forgot that I hadn’t had a chance to tell him about my
father’s return.
“Yeah, we ran into him yesterday . . .”
“How is he? What did he say? What was it like?”
“He’s . . .” I don’t know why, but I feel embarrassed to tell
Landon that my father is still drinking. I know he’d never
judge me, but I’m still apprehensive.
“Is he still . . .”
“Yeah, he is. He was drunk when we saw him, but we
brought him back here and he stayed the night.” I twirl a lock
of hair around my index finger.
“Hardin let him?”
“He didn’t have a say in it; it’s my place, too,” I snap. But
then I immediately feel bad and apologize. “I’m sorry, I’ve
just had it with Hardin thinking he controls everything.”
“Tessa, do you want me to leave campus and come over?”
Landon’s so kind; you can hear it in how he talks.
“No, I’m just being dramatic.” I sigh and look around the
bedroom. “I think I’ll come there, actually. I can still make my
last class.” I could really use some yoga right about now, and
some coffee.
I listen to Landon as I dress myself for yoga. It seems like a
waste to drive all the way to campus for one class, but I don’t
want to sit around this apartment and wait for Hardin to come
home from wherever he ran off to.
“Professor Soto asked about your absence today, and Ken
said he wrote a character witness statement for Hardin. What’s
up with that?” he asks.
“Soto did? I don’t know . . . He offered to help him before,
but I didn’t think he meant it. I guess he just likes him or
something?”
“Likes him? Likes Hardin?” Landon laughs, and I can’t
help but join him.
My phone drops into the sink as I pull my hair into a
ponytail. I curse at myself and get it back to my ear just in
time to hear Landon say he’s headed to the library before his
next class. After our goodbyes, I hang up and start to text
Hardin, to let him know where I’ll be. But then I close the app
instead.
He’ll come around about this whole Seattle thing; he has to.
By the time I get to school, the wind has picked up yet
again and the sky has turned an ugly shade of gray. After
grabbing a coffee, I still have thirty minutes before yoga. The
library is on the other side of campus, so I don’t have time to
go there and see Landon. Instead I end up waiting outside
Professor Soto’s classroom. His class should be ending any—
My thoughts are cut off by the crowd of students practically
rushing out the doors and into the hall. I lift my bag farther up
my shoulder and push my way through them to get inside. The
professor is standing with his back turned toward me as he
pulls his leather jacket over his arms.
When he turns, he greets me with a smile. “Ms. Young.”
“Hi, Professor Soto.”
“What brings you by? Did you need the topic for today’s
journal that you missed?”
“No, Landon gave it to me already. I came by to thank
you.” I shift uncomfortably on the heels of my gym shoes.
“For what?”
“Writing that character witness statement for Hardin. I
know he hasn’t been that pleasant to you, so it’s very
appreciated.”
“It’s nothing, really. Everyone deserves a quality education,
even hotheads.” He laughs.
“I guess so.” I smile at him and look around the classroom,
unsure what to say next.
“Besides, Zed deserved what he got, anyway,” he says
suddenly.
What?
I look back at him. “What do you mean?”
Professor Soto blinks a few times before collecting himself.
“Nothing, I’m just . . . I’m sure Hardin had a good reason for
going after him, that’s all. I better get going, I have a meeting
to get to, but thanks for coming by. I’ll see you in class
Wednesday.”
“I won’t be here Wednesday; I’m going on a trip.”
With a light hand he waves this off. “Well, have fun, then.
I’ll see you when you return.” He quickly walks off, leaving
me bewildered by what he could have meant.
chapter nine
HARDIN
My unlikely drinking partner, Richard, has escaped to the
restroom for the fourth time since we’ve arrived. I get the
feeling that Betsy the Bartender may taken have a slight liking
toward the man, which makes me really fucking
uncomfortable.
“Another?” she asks.
With a nod, I dismiss the burly woman. It’s now after two
in the afternoon, and I’ve had four drinks, which wouldn’t be
so bad if they weren’t straight scotch with a smidgen of ice.
My thoughts are cloudy and my anger has yet to subside. I
don’t know who or what to be more mad about, so I’ve given
up on reasoning things out and have decided to just run with a
general state of pissed-the-fuck-off.
“Here ya go.” The bartender slides my drink in front of me
as Richard takes the stool directly next to me. I was under the
impression he understood the importance of the empty stool
between us. Guess not.
He turns to me, raking his hand over the rough whiskers of
his beard. The sound is disgusting. “Did you order me
another?”
“You should shave that.” I offer my somewhat intoxicated
opinion.
“This?” He does that thing with his hand again.
“Yes, that. It’s not a good look,” I say.
“It’s okay—keeps me warm.” He laughs, and I take a drink
to stop myself from joining him.
“Betsy!” he calls. She nods and pulls his empty glass from
the counter. Then he looks at me. “Are you going to tell me
what it is you’re drinking over?”
“Nope.” I move my scotch in a circle, causing the solitary
ice cube to clink against the glass.
“Fine; no questions, then. Only booze,” he says with some
glee.
My hatred toward him has dissolved for the most part. That
is, until I picture the blond ten-year-old girl hiding in her
mum’s greenhouse. Her blue-gray eyes are wide, fearful
almost . . . and then the blond boy in the fucking cardigan
shows up to save the day.
“One question,” he presses, jarring me from my thoughts.
I take a deep breath and an even deeper drink to keep
myself from doing something idiotic. I mean, more idiotic than
drinking with my girlfriend’s alcoholic father. This family and
their fucking questions. “One,” I say.
“Did you really get kicked out of college today?”
I look over at the neon Pabst sign, thinking over the
question, wishing I hadn’t had four . . . no, five drinks. “No.
But she thinks I did,” I admit.
“And why does she think that?” Nosy fucker.
“Because I told her that I did.” I swing my gaze to him and
say with dead eyes, “That’s enough confessions for one night.”
“Have it your way.” He smiles and raises his glass to hit
mine but I pull away, shaking my head. I can tell by his
laughter that he hadn’t expected me to toast with him anyway
and he finds me very amusing, the same way that I find him
very annoying.
A woman around his age appears at his side and takes the
stool next to him. She wraps her thin arm around his shoulder
and he greets her warmly. She doesn’t strike me as the
homeless type, but she obviously knows him. He probably
spends the majority of his time in this shithole of a bar. I use
this distraction to check my phone for messages or calls from
Tessa: nothing.
I’m relieved but annoyed that she hasn’t attempted to talk
to me. Relieved because I’m drunk, but annoyed because I
miss her already. Each glass of scotch that slides down my
throat makes me want her more, makes the hollowness of her
absence grow.
Fuck, what has she done to me?
She’s so damn infuriating, always trying to push my
buttons. It’s like she literally sits around and devises new ways
to enrage me. Matter of fact, she probably does. She’s
probably sitting cross-legged on the bed with that stupid
fucking planner on her lap, a pen between her teeth and
another behind her ear, coming up with things to do or say that
will drive me insane.
Six months we’ve been together now—six months. That’s a
long-ass time, longer than I ever thought I could stand to
spend with one person. Granted, we haven’t been dating the
entire time, and a lot of those months were spent—no, wasted
—with my trying to stay away from her.
Richard’s voice breaks my thoughts. “This is Nancy.”
I nod at the woman and stare back down at the dark wood
of the bar top.
“Nancy, this well-mannered young man is Hardin. He’s
Tessie’s boyfriend,” he proudly says.
Why would he be proud of me dating his daughter?
“Tessie has a boyfriend! Is she here? I’d love to finally
meet her. Richard here has told me so much about her!”
“She isn’t here,” I grumble.
“That’s too bad; how did her birthday party go? It was last
weekend, right?” she asks.
What?
Richard looks to me, clearly imploring me to go along with
some lie he’s obviously told. “Yeah, it was nice,” he answers
for me before gulping down the rest of his drink.
“That’s nice,” Nancy says, then points toward the entrance.
“Oh, there she is!”
My eyes dart to the door, and for a moment I think she’s
talking about Tessa, but that wouldn’t make sense. She’s never
met her. Instead a too-thin blonde walks across the small room
and over to us. This dive bar is getting too damn crowded.
I hold my empty glass in the air. “Another.”
After an eye roll and a whispered “Asshole,” I’m given
another drink.
“This is my daughter, Shannon,” Nancy informs me.
Shannon looks me up and down with eyes that appear to
have spiders stuck to them. This chick is wearing way too
much makeup.
“Shannon, this is Hardin.” Richard speaks, but I don’t make
any motion toward greeting her.
Many months ago I probably would have paid at least a
little attention to the desperate girl. I maybe would have even
let her blow me in the disgusting bathroom here, but now I just
want her to stop fucking staring at me.
“I don’t think it’ll go any lower without taking it off,” I say
regarding the obnoxious way she keeps tugging at the hem of
her shirt to show off the small bit of cleavage she can manage.
“Excuse me?” she huffs, placing her hands on her narrow
hips.
“You heard me.”
“Okay, okay. Let’s all just settle down here,” Richard says,
putting his hands in the air.
With that, Nancy and her slutty daughter walk away to find
a table.
“You’re welcome,” I say to him, but he shakes his head.
“You’re an unpleasant son of a bitch.” Before I can react,
he adds, “Just how I like ’em.”
THREE DRINKS LATER, I can barely sit on the bar stool.
Richard, who obviously drinks for a living, literally, appears to
have the same problem, as he’s leaning way too close to me.
“So then when I get out the next day, I had to walk two
miles! Of course it started raining . . .”
He continues on, telling me about the last time he was
arrested. I continue to drink and pretend that he isn’t talking to
me.
“If I’m supposed to keep your secret, you should at least
tell me why you told Tessie you were expelled,” he says at
last.
I somehow knew he would wait until I was full-on drunk to
bring this up again. “It’s easier if she thinks that,” I admit.
“How’s that?”
“Because I want her to go to England with me, and she isn’t
exactly thrilled with the idea.”
“I don’t get it.” He pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Your daughter wants to leave me, and I can’t let that
happen.”
“So you tell her you got kicked out of school so she’ll go to
England?”
“Basically.”
He looks down at his drink, then over at me. “That’s really
stupid.”
“I know.” And it does sounds really fucking stupid when
spoken out loud, but it somehow makes sense inside my
fucked-up head.
“Who are you to give advice to me, anyway?” I say to him
at last.
“No one. All I’m saying is you’ll end up just like me if you
keep it up.”
I want to tell him to fuck off and mind his own damn
business, but when I look up at him I see the resemblance I
noted when we first sat down at the bar. Fuck.
“Don’t tell her,” I remind him.
“I won’t.” Then he turns to Betsy. “Another round.”
She smiles at him and begins to make our drinks. I don’t
think I can handle another.
“I’m good. Right now you have three eyes,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “More for me.”
I’m a shit boyfriend, I think to myself, wondering what
Tessie—fuck, Tessa—is doing right now.
“I’m a shit father,” Richard says.
I’m too drunk to comprehend the difference between
thinking and speaking, so I don’t know if him saying this is
coincidence or I was speaking out loud—
“Move down,” a gruff male voice says to the left of
Richard.
I glance over to see a short man with an even fuller beard
than my drinking companion’s.
“There aren’t any more stools, partner,” Richard replies
slowly.
“Well, then you better move,” the man threatens.
Fuck, not this. Not now.
“We aren’t moving.” I dismiss the man.
The man who then makes the mistake of grabbing Richard
by the collar and roughly yanking him upright.
chapter ten
TESSA
The walk back to my car after yoga feels much longer than
usual. The heaviness of Hardin’s expulsion and the move to
Seattle were lifted from me during meditation, but now,
outside the walls of the classroom, the weight is back and
multiplied by ten.
As soon as I begin to pull out of the parking spot, my phone
vibrates on the passenger seat. Hardin.
“Hello?” I stop and shift the gear into park.
But it’s a woman’s voice that barks through the speaker,
and my heart stops. “Is this Tessa?”
“Yes?”
“Good, I’ve got your father and . . .”
“Her . . . boyfriend . . .” I hear Hardin groan in the
background.
“Yeah, your boyfriend,” she says snidely. “I’m gonna need
you to pick these two up before someone calls the cops.”
“Calls the cops? Where are they?” I shift back into drive.
“Dizzy’s on Lamar Avenue; you know the place?”
“No, but I’ll Google it.”
“Huh. Of course you will.”
Ignoring her attitude, I hang up the phone and hastily get
directions to the bar. Why the hell are Hardin and my father at
a bar at three in the afternoon? Why the hell are Hardin and
my father even together?
This makes no sense to me—and what about the cops?
What did they do? I should have asked the woman on the
phone. I can only hope they didn’t get into a fight with each
other. That’s the last thing any of us needs.
My imagination has run wild by the time I make it to the
bar, and has concluded that Hardin’s either murdered my
father or vice versa. There are no cop cars outside the small
bar, which is a good sign, I suppose. I park directly in front of
the building and hurry inside, wishing I had worn a sweatshirt
instead of a T-shirt.
“There she is!” my father calls out jubilantly.
I can tell he’s loaded as he stumbles over to me.
“You should have seen it, Tessie!” He claps his hands.
“Hardin just whooped some serious ass!”
“Where is he—” I start, but right then a bathroom door
opens and Hardin walks out, wiping his bloody hands on a
red-stained paper towel.
“What happened?” I yell to him from the opposite side of
the room.
“Nothing . . . calm down.”
I gape as I walk over to him. “Are you drunk?” I ask, then
twist slightly to look at his eyes: bloodshot.
He looks off to the side. “Maybe.”
“This is unbelievable.” I cross my arms as he tries to take
my hand.
“Hey, you should be thanking me for having your dad’s
back. He’d be on the floor right now if it wasn’t for me.” He
points to a man sitting on the floor holding a bag of ice against
his cheek.
“I won’t be thanking you for anything—you’re drunk in the
middle of the afternoon! And with my father, of all people.
What the hell is wrong with you?” I storm away from him,
back toward the bar, where my father is now sitting.
“Don’t be mad at him, Tessie; he loves you.” My father is
defending him.
What the hell is going on here?
As Hardin walks over, I ball my fists at my sides and shout,
“So what, you two get drunk together and now you’re best
friends? Neither of you should even be drinking!”
“Baby,” Hardin says into my ear and attempts to wrap his
arm around me.
“Hey,” the woman behind the bar says, knocking on the
counter to get my attention. “You gotta get them out of here.”
I nod at her and glare at the drunken idiots who are my lot.
My father’s cheek is pink, giving the impression he was hit,
and Hardin’s hands are already swelling.
“You can come to our house for tonight so you can sober
up, but this isn’t acceptable behavior.” I want to scold them
both, like the children they are. “For either of you.”
I exit the smelly little space and am at the car before they
make it to the door. Hardin scowls at my father as the older
man tries to rest an arm on his shoulder. I get into my car,
disgusted.
Hardin’s intoxication puts me on edge. I know how he is
when he’s drunk, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him this
drunk before, not even that night he destroyed all the china. I
miss the days when Hardin didn’t drink anything but water at
parties. We have a list of problems right now, and him
drinking only adds fuel to the flames.
APPARENTLY, MY FATHER has graduated from being an
angry drunk to one who tells endless jokes, most of which are
tasteless and obnoxious. The whole ride home he laughs too
hard at his own words, with Hardin joining him every now and
then. This isn’t how I envisioned this day at all. I don’t know
what it was that made Hardin warm up to my father, but now
that they’re both drunk in the middle of the day, I don’t like
their “friendship” at all.
When we get home, I leave my father in the kitchen eating
more of Hardin’s Frosted Flakes and head for the bedroom—
where most of our arguments seem to begin and end.
“Tessa,” Hardin begins as soon as I close the door.
“Don’t,” I say coldly.
“Don’t be mad at me—we were just having a drink.” His
tone is playful, but I’m not in the mood for it.
“ ‘Just having a drink’? With my father—an alcoholic who
I’m trying to build a relationship with, who I wanted to maybe
think about getting sober. That’s who you were ‘just drinking’
with?”
“Baby . . .”
I shake my head. “Don’t you ‘baby’ me. I’m not okay with
this.”
“Nothing happened.” He wraps his fingers around my arm
to pull me to him, but when I pull away it causes him to
stumble to the bed.
“Hardin, you got in a fight again!”
“Not a big one. Who cares?”
“I do. I care.”
He looks up at me from his place on the edge of our bed,
his green eyes laced with red, and says, “Then why are you
leaving me? If you care so much?”
My heart sinks a little farther into my chest.
“I’m not leaving you; I’m asking you to come with me.” I
sigh.
“But I don’t want to,” he whines.
“I know, but this is the one thing I have left—apart from
you, of course.”
“I’ll marry you.” He reaches for my hand, but I step back.
My breath hitches. I’m sure I couldn’t have heard that
correctly. “What?” I raise my hands, blocking him from
coming closer.
“I said I’ll marry you if you choose me.” He stands up,
stepping toward me.
The words, even though they’re meaningless because of the
amount of alcohol coursing through him, still excite me.
“You’re drunk,” I say.
He’s only offering marriage because he’s drunk, which is
worse than not offering at all.
“So? I still mean it.”
“No, you don’t.” I shake my head and dodge his touch
again.
“Yes, I do—not now, of course, but in like . . . six years or
so?” He scratches his thumb across his forehead, thinking.
I roll my eyes. Despite my fluttering heart, this last bit of
hedging, offering to marry me in a vague “six years or so,”
shows that reality is creeping back into his thoughts, even as
he drunkenly tries to convince me otherwise. “We’ll see how
you feel about this tomorrow,” I say, knowing he surely won’t
remember it tomorrow.
“Will you be wearing those pants?” His lips form a wicked
smile.
“No; don’t even start talking about these damn pants.”
“You’re the one who wore them. You know how I feel
about them.” He looks down at his lap, then points at it and
looks up waggling his eyebrows.
Playful, teasing, drunk Hardin is sort of adorable . . . but
not adorable enough to make me lose my ground.
“Come here,” he begs, mock-frowning.
“No. I’m still upset with you.”
“Come on, Tessie, don’t be mad.” He laughs and rubs his
eyes with the back of his hands.
“If either of you calls me that one more time, I swear—”
“Tessie, what’s wrong, Tessie? You don’t like the name
Tessie, Tessie?”
Hardin grins wide, and I feel my resolve fading the longer I
stare at him.
“Are you going to let me take those pants off of you?”
“No. I’ve a lot to do today, and none of those things involve
you taking my clothes off. I would ask you to come along, but
you decided to get wasted with my father, so I have to go
alone.”
“You’re going somewhere?” His voice is smooth yet raspy,
thick from the liquor.
“Yes.”
“You’re not wearing that, though, right?”
“Yes, I am. I can wear whatever the hell I want to wear.” I
grab a sweatshirt and head for the door. “I’ll be back later;
don’t do anything stupid, because I won’t bail you or my
father out of jail.”
“Sassy. I like it, but I can think of something else to do with
that smart mouth of yours.” When I ignore his crude remark,
he coos, “Stay with me.”
I quickly leave the room and the apartment before he can
persuade me to stay. I hear him call “Tessie” as I reach the
door and have to cover my mouth to hide the giggle that
escapes. This is my problem: when it comes to Hardin, my
brain doesn’t see the difference between right and wrong.
chapter eleven
TESSA
By the time I make it to my car, I already wish I’d have
stayed in the bedroom with Hardin and his playful mood.
But I have too much to do. I have to call the woman back
about the apartment in Seattle, get a few things for the trip
with Hardin’s family, and, most importantly, clear my head
about Seattle. Hardin offering me marriage nearly swayed me,
but I know he won’t mean it tomorrow. I’m trying desperately
not to overthink his words and let them change my mind, but
it’s much harder than I expected.
I’ll marry you if you choose me.
I was surprised—shocked, really—when the words were
spoken. He seemed so calm, his voice so neutral, as if he were
announcing what we were having for dinner. I know better,
though; I know he’s getting desperate. The liquor and his
desperation to keep me from moving to Seattle are the only
reasons behind his offer. Even so, I can’t stop replaying the
words in my mind. Pathetic, I know, but if I’m being honest,
that mix of hopefulness and knowing better than to feel that
way is how I feel.
By the time I get to Target, I still haven’t called Sandra (I
believe that’s her name) to discuss the apartment. It looks like
a nice place from the pictures on the website. Not nearly as big
as our current space, but it’s good enough, and I can afford to
live there on my own. It doesn’t have bookshelves for walls or
the exposed-brick wall that I have grown to love so much, but
it’ll do.
I’m ready for this, for Seattle. I’m ready to take this step for
my future; I’ve been waiting for this since I can remember.
I stroll through the store, daydreaming about Seattle and my
situation, and soon I find my basket full of random things,
none of which I actually need for the trip. Tablets for the
dishwasher, toothpaste, a new dustpan. Why am I buying this
if I’m moving anyway? I put the dustpan back, along with
some colorful socks I tossed in there for no apparent reason. If
Hardin doesn’t come along, I’ll need to start over and buy all
new dishes, all new everything. It’s a huge relief that the
apartment comes furnished, since that crosses out at least a
dozen things from my to-do list.
After Target, I’m not really sure what to do with myself. I
don’t want to return to the apartment with Hardin and my
father, but I don’t have anywhere else to go. I’m going to be
spending three days with Landon, Ken, and Karen, so I don’t
want to drive to their house and bother them. I really need
friends. Or one friend, at least. I could call Kimberly, but she’s
probably busy planning her own move. Lucky girl. It’s
Christian’s company that’s taking her to Seattle, granted, but I
can tell by the way he looks at her that he’d follow her
anywhere.
While scrolling through my phone to call Sandra, I almost
tap Steph’s name.
I wonder what she’s doing. Hardin would probably lose his
mind if I called her to hang out. Then again, he’s in no position
to tell me what to do, being completely belligerent and wasted
in the middle of the day.
I’m calling her, I decide. And she answers quickly.
“Tessa! What’re you up to?” she says loudly, trying to talk
over the voices in the background.
“Nothing. I’m sitting in the parking lot at Target.”
“Oh, fun shit, then?” She laughs.
“Not really. What are you doing?”
“Nothing; going to lunch with my friend.”
“Oh, okay. Well, call me later or something,” I say.
“You can meet us there if you want; it’s just the Applebee’s
right off campus.”
Applebee’s reminds me of Zed, but the food was incredible
and I haven’t eaten yet today.
“Okay, I’ll come if you’re sure that’s okay?” I ask.
I hear a car door shut in the background. “Yes! Get your ass
over here. We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes or so.”
I call Sandra on my way back toward campus and leave her
a voicemail. I can’t ignore the relief that I feel when her
voicemail picks up instead of her actual voice, but I’m not
really sure what that’s about.
Applebee’s is really crowded by the time I arrive, and I
don’t see Steph as I scan the room for bright crimson hair, so I
put my name in with the hostess.
“How many?” The hostess asks me with a friendly smile.
“Three, I think?” Steph said she was with her friend, so I
assume she meant only one person.
“Well, I’ve got a booth available now, so let me give it to
you just in case.” The girl smiles and grabs four menus from
the stand behind her.
I follow her to the booth toward the back of the restaurant
and wait for Steph to arrive. I check my phone for any
correspondence from Hardin, but there’s none; he’s probably
passed out by now. When I look back up, my adrenaline
immediately spikes at the sight of flaming-pink hair.
chapter twelve
HARDIN
I open the cabinet in search of something to eat. I need to soak
up the liquor coursing through me.
“She’s so mad at us,” Richard says, watching me.
“Yeah, she is.” I can’t help but smile at the way her face
was flushed with anger, her small fists bunched at her sides.
She was furious.
It’s not funny . . . well, it is, but it shouldn’t be.
“Is my daughter one to hold grudges?”
I look at him for a minute. It’s weird for a father to have to
ask a boyfriend about his own daughter’s habits. “Obviously
not. You’re in our kitchen eating all my damn cereal.” I shake
the empty box.
He smiles. “Guess you’re right,” he says.
“Yeah, usually am.” Actually, that couldn’t be further from
the fucking truth. “Guess it sucks for you that you showed up
now, when she’s moving in less than a week,” I say as I place
a Tupperware container in the microwave. I’m not exactly sure
what’s in it, but I’m starving and too drunk to cook for myself,
and Tessa isn’t here to cook for me. What the fuck am I going
to do when she leaves me?
“It does,” he says with a grimace. “I’m just glad Seattle
isn’t too far.”
“England is.”
After a long pause, he says, “She won’t go to England.”
I give him a fuck-off look. “What the fuck do you know?
You’ve known her for, what, two days?” I’m about to really go
off when the obnoxious beep of the microwave interrupts us.
“I know Carol, though, and she wouldn’t go to England.”
So he’s back to being the annoying drunk he was yesterday.
“Tessa isn’t her mother, and I’m not you.”
“Okay,” he says and shrugs.
chapter thirteen
TESSA
Molly.
I pray that her presence here is a complete coincidence, but
when Steph appears behind her, I sink back into the booth.
“Hey, Tessa!” Steph says and sits across from me, scooting
in close to the wall so her “friend” can sit next to her. Why
would she invite me to have lunch with her and Molly?
“Long time no see,” Molly the skank says to me.
I don’t know what to say to either of them. I want to get up
and walk out, but instead I half smile and just say, “Yeah.”
“Have you ordered?” Steph asks, completely ignoring the
fact that she brought with her my biggest—my only—enemy.
“No.” I reach into my bag to pull out my phone.
“No need to call Daddy, I’m not going to bite.” Molly
smirks.
“I wasn’t calling Hardin,” I tell her. I was actually going to
text him; there’s a clear difference.
“Sure you weren’t,” she replies, and laughs.
“Stop,” Steph snaps. “You said you’d be nice, Molly.”
“Why did you even come?” I ask the girl that I loathe more
than anyone in the entire world.
She shrugs. “I’m hungry,” she says matter-of-factly, clearly
mocking my emotions.
I grab my sweatshirt and move to get up. “I should just go.”
“No, stay! Please, you’re moving, and I won’t see you
again,” Steph says, pouting.
“What?”
“You’re leaving in a few days, aren’t you?”
“Who told you that?”
Molly and Steph look at each other before Steph answers.
“Zed, I think; it doesn’t matter, though. I thought you’d tell
me.”
“I was going to; there was just a lot going on. I was going
to tell you here . . .” I say, then look at Molly as if to explain
my reluctance to continue.
“I still wish you’d’ve told me. I was your first friend here.”
Steph sticks out her bottom lip in a way that makes me feel
bad but still seems a little comical, so I’m thankful when a
server arrives to take our drink order.
While Steph and Molly are ordering their sodas, I text
Hardin. You’re probably passed out, but I’m at lunch with Steph, and she
brought Molly :/ I hit send and look back up at the two girls.
“So, are you excited to be leaving? What are you and
Hardin going to do?” Steph asks.
I shrug and look around the room. I’m not discussing my
relationship in front of Satan’s daughter.
“You can talk in front of me. Trust me, I’m not interested in
your boring-ass life,” Molly scoffs, taking a sip of her water.
“Trust you?” I laugh, and my phone vibrates.
Come home. Hardin texts back.
I don’t know what I expected him to say, but I’m
disappointed in his advice, or lack of it.
No, I’m hungry. I reply.
“Look, you and Hardin are cute and all, but I don’t really
give a shit about your relationship anymore,” Molly informs
me. “I have my own relationship to worry about now.”
“Great. Good for you.” I feel bad for whoever the idiot is.
“Speaking of which, Molly, when are we going to meet this
mystery man?” Steph asks her friend.
Molly dismisses her with a flip of the hand. “I don’t know;
not right now.”
The waitress returns with our drinks and takes our orders.
As soon as she leaves, Molly turns to me, her real prey.
“Anyway, so how pissed at Zed are you that he’s planning to
put Hardin in jail?” she asks, and I nearly spit out my water.
The idea of Hardin going to jail sends ice through my
veins.“I’m trying to stop that from happening.”
“Good luck with that. Unless you plan on fucking Zed,
there’s nothing you can do.” Again she smirks, tapping her
neon-green fingernail on the table.
“That’s not an option,” I growl.
I’ve got something you can eat here. Really, though, come home before
something happens and I can’t save you.
Save me? From what? Molly and Steph? Steph is my
friend, and I’ve already proved once before that I can take
Molly, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. She’s annoying and I
can’t stand her, but I’m not afraid of her like I once was.
I can tell by Hardin’s perverted message that he’s still
intoxicated.
I mean it, leave there, his next message says when I don’t reply.
I shove my phone into my bag and direct my attention to
the girls.
“You’ve already done it before, so what’s the difference?”
Molly says.
“Excuse me?” I say.
“I’m not judging you. I’ve fucked Hardin. Zed, too,” she
reminds me.
I’m so frustrated that I want to scream. “I didn’t sleep with
Zed,” I say through my teeth.
“Mm-hmm . . .” Molly says, and Steph glares at her.
“Did someone say that—that I slept with Zed?” I ask them.
“No,” Steph answers before Molly can speak. “And
anyway, enough talk about Zed. I want to know about Seattle.
Is Hardin coming, too?”
“Yeah,” I lie. I don’t want to admit, especially in front of
Molly, that Hardin refuses to join me in Seattle.
“So neither of you will be here anymore? That will be so
strange,” Steph says with a little frown.
It’ll be strange to start over at a new campus after
everything I’ve been through at WCU. That’s exactly what I
need, though—a new start. This entire town is tainted with
memories of betrayal and false friendships.
“We should have a get-together this weekend—one last
hurrah,” Steph says.
I groan. “No, no parties.”
“No, no, not a party, just our group.” She looks at me with
something like pleading in her eyes. “Let’s be honest: we’ll
probably never see each other again, and Hardin should hang
out with his old friends at least one more time.”
I hestitate and have to look away from her, glancing over at
the bar area.
Molly’s voice interrupts the silence. “I won’t be there, don’t
worry.”
I look back at them, and right then our food arrives.
But I’ve lost my appetite. Are people really saying that I
slept with Zed? Has Hardin heard this supposed rumor? Will
Zed really put Hardin in jail? My head hurts.
Steph eats a few fries, and before she finishes chewing she
says, “Talk to Hardin and let me know. We could have it at
someone’s apartment—Tristan and Nate’s, even. That way no
random douche bags will show up.”
“I can ask . . . I don’t know if he will or not.” My eyes
move down to my screen. Three missed calls. One text: Answer
your phone.
I’m leaving after I eat, calm down. Drink some water, I respond and pick
at my own fries a little.
But the tension obviously gets to Molly, and she starts
talking like a pot boiling over. “Well, he should like that idea
—we were his friends long before you came along and ruined
him.”
“I didn’t ruin him.”
“Yes, you did. He’s so different now—he doesn’t even call
anybody anymore.”
“His friends,” I scoff. “Nobody calls him either. The only
one who even contacts him anymore is Nate.”
“That’s because we know—” Molly begins.
But Steph puts her hand in the air. “Enough; oh my God,”
she groans, rubbing her temples.
“I’m going to ask for a takeout box and go home. This was
a bad idea,” I tell her. I don’t know what she was thinking
bringing Molly here anyway; she could have at least warned
me.
Steph looks at me sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Tessa. I
thought you guys could get along since she’s not trying to fuck
with Hardin anymore.” Then she glares at Molly, who shrugs.
“We are getting along—better than before,” Molly says.
I want to smack that smug look off her face. But Steph’s
ring tone interrupts my violent thoughts.
A puzzled look crosses her face. Then she says, “It’s
Hardin, he’s calling me,” and holds her phone up for me to
see.
“I haven’t been texting him back; I’ll call him in a minute,”
I tell her, and she nods okay and ignores the call.
“Jeez, stalker much?” Molly bites down on the end of a
french fry.
I bite my tongue and ask the server for a to-go box. I’ve
barely touched my food, but I don’t want to cause a scene in
the middle of a restaurant.
“Please think about Saturday. We can even make it like a
dinner thing instead of a party,” Steph offers. Then she gives
me her best smile. “Please?”
“I’ll see what I can do, but we’re going on a trip until
Saturday morning.”
She nods again agreeably. “You can choose the time.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know,” I tell her and pay my bill.
I don’t like the idea, but in a way she’s right—we won’t
ever see any of them again. Hardin’s going somewhere; maybe
not Seattle, but he isn’t staying here now since his expulsion,
and he probably should see his old friends one last time.
“He’s calling again,” Steph tells me; she doesn’t bother
trying to hide her amusement.
“Tell him I’m on my way.” I stand up and head for the door.
When I turn back around, Steph and Molly are talking, and
Steph’s phone is resting on the table in front of them.
chapter fourteen
HARDIN
Tessa, if you don’t call me back, I’ll come looking for you,
hammered or not,” I threaten, then throw my phone against the
couch too hard, so it bounces up off the back and hits the
concrete.
“She’ll come back,” Dick assures me ever so helpfully.
“I know that!” I shout at him and grab my phone.
Fortunately, the screen’s not cracked. I glare at the old drunk
and then stalk into the bedroom.
Why the fuck is he here, again? And why the fuck isn’t
Tessa? Nothing good can come out of her being in the same
room with Molly.
Just as I start plotting how to go out and find her when I
have no keys, no car, and a blood alcohol level that is far
beyond the legal limit, I hear the front door open.
“He’s, uh, lying down,” Richard says loudly, with
incongruous cheerfulness. I suspect he’s trying to give me
some sort of warning of Tessa’s arrival.
I pull the door open before she can and sweep a long arm to
invite her in. She doesn’t look the least bit intimidated or
concerned by the deep scowl on my face.
“Why didn’t you answer when I called you?” I demand.
“Because I told you I was leaving soon. And I did.”
“You should have answered. I’ve been worried.”
“Worried?” She’s clearly surprised by my choice of words.
“Yes, worried. Why the hell were you with Molly?”
She puts her purse on the back of the chair. “Beats me.
Steph invited me to lunch and brought her along,”
Fucking Steph. “Why the fuck would she do that? Was she
mean?”
“No meaner than usual.” She raises her brow, watching me.
“Steph’s a bitch for bringing her. What were they saying?”
“I don’t know, but I think people are spreading rumors
about me.” She frowns and sits on the chair to remove her
shoes.
“What? What sort of rumors?”
What I really mean to ask is: Who do I have to kill?
Fuck, I’m still drunk. How is this possible? It’s been at least
three hours. I vaguely remember being told some time ago that
each drink takes an hour to sober up from; I’m fucked for at
least the next ten or so hours, then. That is, if I’m
remembering correctly.
“Did you hear me?” Tessa’s voice is calm, worried even.
“No, sorry,” I mumble.
Her cheeks flush. “I think people are saying that Zed and
I . . . you know.”
“You what?”
“That we . . . slept together.” Her eyes are weary and her
voice is soft.
“Who’s saying that?” I try to keep my voice at the same
level as Tessa’s despite the slow burn of anger building inside
me.
“Supposedly there’s a rumor about it; Steph and Molly
were talking about it.”
I don’t know whether to try to comfort her or let my anger
take over. I’m too drunk for this shit.
She holds her hands in her lap and looks down. “I don’t
want people to think of me in that way.”
“Don’t listen to them, they’re fucking idiots. If there is a
rumor, I’ll be sure it’s cleared up.” I drag her over to sit with
me on the bed. “Don’t you worry.”
“You’re not mad at me?” she asks, blue-gray eyes meeting
mine.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m upset because you weren’t answering,
and then Steph didn’t fucking answer. But I’m not mad about
this rumor shit—not at you, at least; they probably just made it
up because they wanted to be assholes.” The thought of Steph
and Molly saying shit to Tessa to purposely hurt her feelings
really fucking irks me.
“I don’t understand why she brought Molly, who then, of
course, had to remind me that she slept with you.” She cringes.
So do I.
“She’s a fucking whore who doesn’t have shit else to do but
reminisce over the days I used to fuck her brains out.”
“Hardin,” Tess whines at the too-descriptive reminder.
“Sorry; you know what I mean.”
She unhooks the clasp on her bracelet and gets up to place
it on the desk. “Are you still drunk?”
“A little.”
“A little?”
I smile. “A little more than a little.”
“You’re being so weird.” She rolls her eyes and pulls that
damn planner out of the desk drawer.
“How so?” I walk over to stand behind her.
“You’re drunk and being all nice about everything. Like
you were mad that I wasn’t answering you, but now you’re
being . . .” She looks up at my face. “ ‘Understanding,’ I guess
is the word, over this Molly thing.”
“What did you expect me to do?”
“I don’t know . . . yell at me? You don’t have the best
temper when you’re drunk,” she says softly.
I can tell she’s trying not to upset me, but wants to let me
know she’s not going to dance around the issue. “I’m not
going to yell at you; I just didn’t want you around them. You
know how they are, especially Molly, and I don’t want anyone
hurting you.” Then I add, emphasizing each word, “In any
way.”
“Well, they didn’t, but . . . I know it’s stupid, but for once I
just wanted a normal lunch with a friend.”
I want to tell her Steph isn’t an ideal choice for a friend, but
I know she doesn’t have any, aside from Landon and me . . .
and Noah.
And Zed.
Well, not Zed anymore. That shit is over, and I’m fairly
certain that kid won’t be showing his face around here for a
while.
chapter fifteen
TESSA
The fact that Hardin is being reasonable surprises me, and I’m
able to relax a little bit. He crosses his legs and leans back on
his palms. I’m not sure if I should bring up Seattle now, since
he seems to be in an easy mood, or if I should wait.
But if I wait, who knows when he’ll be ready to talk about
it.
I glance at him, notice his green eyes watching me, and
decide to ease into it. “Steph wants to have a going-away
party,” I tell him and wait for his reaction.
“Where’s she going? LSU?”
“No. It’s for me,” I explain, leaving out the small detail of
telling them he’s coming along to Seattle.
He gives me a look. “You told them you’re moving?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you haven’t decided yet, right?”
“Hardin, I’m going to Seattle.”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “You still have some time to think
about it.”
“Anyway . . . what do you think about this party? She said
it could be a dinner-party-type get-together at Nate and
Tristan’s place instead of the frat house,” I explain, but
Hardin’s still intoxicated and he doesn’t seem to be listening to
me. I look over my moving schedule for next week. I really
hope Sandra calls me back soon about that apartment;
otherwise I won’t have a place to live when I get there, and I’ll
be stuck living out of a suitcase in some motel room. Ugh,
motel rooms.
“No, we aren’t going,” he surprises me by saying.
I turn to him. “What? Why not? If it’s a dinner it won’t be
so bad—no Truth or Dare or Suck and Go, you know?”
He chuckles and looks up at me with amusement clear on
his face. “Suck and Blow, Tess.”
“You know what I mean! It’ll be the last time we—well, I
see them, and they have sort of been my friends, in a really
strange way.” I don’t want to think about the beginning of my
“friendship” with the group.
“Let’s just talk about it later. This shit is giving me a
headache,” he groans.
I sigh in defeat. I can tell by his tone that he’s not going to
continue the discussion.
“Come here.” He sits back down on the mattress and opens
his arms to me.
I close the planner and go to join him on the bed; as I stand
between his legs, his hands move to my hips. He looks up at
me with a crooked smile.
“Aren’t you supposed to be mad at me or something?”
“I’m getting overwhelmed, Hardin,” I admit.
“Overwhelmed by what?”
I throw up my arms. “Everything. Seattle, transferring to
another campus, Landon leaving, your expulsion—”
“I lied,” he says plainly and nuzzles his face into my
stomach.
What now? “What?” I thread my fingers through his hair
and lift his head to look up at me.
He shrugs. “I lied about the expulsion.”
I take a step away from him; he tries to pull me back, but I
don’t allow it. “Why?”
“I don’t know, Tessa,” he says, and stands. “I was upset
about you being outside with Zed and all this Seattle shit.”
My mouth drops. “So you told me you were expelled
because you were pissed at me?”
“Yeah. Well, that and another reason.”
“What other reason?”
He sighs. “You’re going to be angry.” His eyes are still red,
but he seems to be sobering up quickly.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Yeah, probably. But tell
me.”
“I thought you’d feel bad for me and come to England.”
I don’t know what to think about his confession. I should be
upset. I am upset. I’m pissed the hell off. The nerve of him, to
try and guilt me into moving to England with him. He should
have just been honest from the start . . . but still I can’t help
but feel a little better about finding it out straight from his
mouth instead of the usual way his lies are revealed.
He looks at me with questioning eyes. “Tessa . . . ?”
I look at him and almost smile. “Honestly, I’m just
surprised you came clean before someone else told me.”
“Me, too.” He closes the distance between us, bringing his
hand to my neck, the span of his fingers covering my jaw.
“Please don’t be mad at me. I’m an asshole.”
I blow out a harsh breath, but love his touch. “That’s a
terrible defense.”
“I’m not defending myself. I’m a dick. I know this, but I
love you and I’m sick of all the shit. I knew you’d find out
sooner or later anyway, especially with this dreadful trip with
my father’s family.”
“So you told me because you knew I’d find out?”
“Yeah.”
I pull my head back a little and look at him. “You would
have kept it from me and still tried to force me to go to
England with you out of pity?”
“Basically . . .”
What the hell am I supposed to say to that? I want to tell
him he’s insane, that he’s not my father and needs to stop
trying to manipulate me, but instead I just stand there with my
mouth open like a fool. “You can’t try to force me into things
by lying and manipulating me.”
“I know it’s fucked up,” he says, with a look of worry in his
green eyes. “I don’t know why I am the way I am. I just don’t
want to lose you, and I’m desperate here.”
I can tell by his expression that he really doesn’t understand
how he’s been acting. “No, you don’t know. Otherwise you
wouldn’t have lied.”
Hardin puts his hands on my hips. “Tessa, I’m sorry, I
really am. You have to admit that we’re both getting much
better at this relationship shit.”
He’s right; in a messed-up way we really are much better at
communicating than we used to be. Far from a normal-
functioning relationship, but normal has never been our thing.
“So, the marriage thing—that isn’t going to make you come
with me?”
My heart beats uncontrollably in my chest, and I’m sure he
can hear it. But I say simply, “We’ll talk about it when you’re
not drunk.”
“I’m not that drunk.”
I smile and pat his cheek. “Too drunk for that type of
conversation.”
He smiles and pulls me closer. “When will you be back
from Sandpoint?”
“You’re not coming?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said you would. We’ve never traveled together
before.”
“Seattle,” he says, and I laugh.
“Actually, you showed up there uninvited, and left the next
morning.”
He runs a hand through my hair. “Technicalities.”
“I really want you to come. Landon is moving soon.” The
thought of that alone pains me.
“So?” he asks, shaking his head.
“And your father would love it if you came, I’m sure.”
“Oh, him. He’s just upset with himself because they gave
me a bullshit fine and put me on academic probation; the
slightest fuckup and I’m done.”
“Then why not transfer to the Seattle campus with me?”
“I can’t hear the word ‘Seattle’ again tonight; I’ve had a
long day and have a headache from hell now . . .” He kisses
my forehead.
I snap my head back slightly, away from him. “You got
drunk with my father and lied about being expelled—we’re
talking about Seattle if I want to,” I say sharply.
He smiles. “And you wore those pants out after teasing me
with them, and didn’t answer my calls.” He runs his thumb
along my bottom lip.
“You don’t need to call me that many times. It’s
suffocating. Molly even called you a stalker,” I say, but smile
beneath his gentle touch.
“Did she, now?” He continues tracing the outline of my
lips, and they part involuntarily.
“Yeah,” I breathe.
“Hmm . . .”
“I know what you’re doing.” I reach down and remove his
other hand from my hip, where his fingers have begun to slip
below the waistband of my pants.
He smiles. “What’s that?”
“You’re trying to distract me so I won’t be mad at you.”
“How’s that working for me?”
“Not well enough. Besides, my father is here, and there’s
no way I’m having sex with you when he’s in the other room.”
I reach around and smack him playfully on the butt.
Which only makes him thrust himself against me a little.
“Oh, you mean like when I fucked you right there”—he points
to the bed—“while my mum was sleeping on the couch?” He
thrusts gently against me again. “Or the time I fucked you in
the bathroom at my father’s, or the multiple times I fucked you
while Karen, Landon, and my father were just down the hall?”
He reaches down and touches my thigh softly. “Oh, wait, you
must mean like when I bent you over your desk at work—”
“Okay! Okay! I get it, I get it.” I flush, and he laughs.
“Come on, Tessie, lie down.”
“You’re sick.” I laugh and step away from him.
“Where are you going?” he says with a pout.
“To see what my father’s doing out there.”
“Why? So you can come back in here and—”
“No! Gosh—go to sleep or something!” I exclaim. I’m glad
he’s still being playful, but despite his confession, it’s still
annoying that he lied to me and is being so stubborn about
even really discussing Seattle.
I thought for sure that when I got home from my late lunch
at Applebee’s, he’d be furious at me for not answering his
texts. I never suspected that we’d talk things out and he’d
admit to lying about being expelled. Maybe Steph had
reassured him that I was on my way, so he had time to calm
down. Then again, Steph’s phone was on the table when I
turned back around . . .
“Did you say Steph didn’t answer when you called?” I ask.
“Yes; why?” He looks at me, confused.
I shrug, unsure what to say. “I’m just wondering.”
“Why, though?” His tone is off.
“I told her to tell you I was on my way, and I’m just
wondering why she didn’t.”
“Oh.” He looks away, reaching for a cup on the dresser.
This whole conversation is so awkward—Steph not telling him
that I was on my way, him avoiding my eyes.
“I’m going out there. You can join us if you want.”
“I will. I’m just going to change.”
I nod and turn the door handle.
“What about your dad, though? He just came back into
your life, and you’re going to leave?” His words stop me in
my tracks. It’s not like I hadn’t thought about it before, but
Hardin lobbing that question at me like a missile when my
back is turned doesn’t sit right with me.
I take a moment to recover before leaving the room. When I
get to the living room, my father is asleep again. Binge
drinking at noon must be exhausting. I turn off the television
and head to the kitchen for some water. Hardin’s words about
leaving so soon after seeing my father again keep replaying in
my mind. But the thing is, I can’t put my future on hold for a
father whom I haven’t seen for nine years. If the circumstances
were different I would consider rethinking this, but he’s the
one who left me.
When I get back to the bedroom door, I hear Hardin’s voice
speaking from inside.
“What the fuck was that shit today?” he says, his voice
muffled.
I press my ear to the door. I should just walk in, but I get
the feeling I’m not supposed to hear the conversation. Which
means I really should hear the conversation.
“I don’t give a fuck, it shouldn’t have happened. Now she’s
all upset and shit, and you’re supposed to . . .” I can’t make
out the rest of the sentence.
“Don’t fuck this up,” he snaps.
Who is he talking to? And what are they supposed to be
doing? Is it Steph? Or, worse, Molly?
I hear his footsteps approaching the door, and I quickly
scoot into the bathroom and close the door.
Moments later, knuckles tap against the wood. “Tessa?”
I open the door. I know I must appear flustered. My heart is
pounding against my rib cage, and my stomach is in a knot.
“Oh, hey. Was just finishing up in here,” I say, but my voice
too small.
Hardin cocks an eyebrow at me. “Okay . . .” He looks down
the hall. “Where’s your dad? Is he asleep?”
“Uh, yup,” I say, which makes him grin wide.
“Well, c’mon back to the bedroom, then,” he says and takes
my hand in his, turning and pulling me gently.
As I follow Hardin back into the bedroom, paranoia begins
to seep into my thoughts like a familiar friend.
chapter sixteen
TESSA
The microscopic section of my mind that holds a place for
common sense is attempting to send warning signals to the rest
of my brain, the space held by Hardin and all things Hardin.
The sensible side—what’s left of it, anyway—is telling me
that I need to ask questions, that I can’t just brush this off. I do
that too much as it is.
That’s the microscopic section. The larger section wins.
Because, do I really want to cause a fight with him or accuse
him of something that I might just be misunderstanding? He
could have just been angry at Steph for inviting Molly along to
lunch earlier. I couldn’t hear all that well, and he might have
been sticking up for me. He was just so forthcoming about
having lied about being expelled—why would he be lying to
me now?
Hardin sits back on the bed, grabbing my hands in his,
pulling me over to sit on his leg. “Well, we’ve exhausted all
the serious topics, and your dad’s asleep. I guess we’ll have to
find another way to occupy ourselves . . .” His grin is
ridiculous yet infectious.
“Is sex all you think about?” I reply and push his chest
playfully.
He lies back on the bed, one hand across the small of my
back and one behind my thigh, pulling me on top of him. I
straddle him, my thighs on either side of his, and he pulls me
down so that our faces are nearly touching.
“No, I think of other things, too. For example, I think of
those lips open around me . . .” He brushes his lips against
mine. I can taste the hint of mint on his breath when he kisses
me; the pressure is hard enough to send a wave of electricity
through me, but gentle enough to leave me wanting more.
“I think of my face buried between your legs while you—”
he starts to say, but I reach up and cover his mouth with my
hand. The way his tongue playfully darts out to lick my palm
causes me to pull away quickly.
“Eww.” I crinkle my nose and wipe my wet palm on his
black shirt.
“I’ll be quiet,” he softly says, lifting his hips from the
mattress to press himself against me. “That’s more than you
can say, of course.”
“My father . . .” I remind him, with much less conviction
this time.
“Who gives a fuck? This is our place, and if he doesn’t like
it, he can leave.”
I give him a semiserious look. “Don’t be rude.”
“I’m not, but I want you, and I should be able to have you
whenever I want to,” he says, and I roll my eyes.
“I have a say in this, too; it’s my body you’re talking
about.” I pretend like my heart isn’t pounding and I don’t have
that familiar ache for him.
“Obviously, yes. But I know that if I do this . . .” He
reaches his hand down between our bodies and under the
waistband of my pants and panties. “See, I knew you’d be
ready when I started talking about eating . . .”
I press my lips against his to silence his dirty mouth, and he
swallows the gasps he’s causing me to make as his fingers
graze over my clit. He’s barely touching me, deliberately
trying to torture me.
“Pleasssse,” I hiss, and he applies more pressure, pushing a
slick finger inside of me.
“Thought so,” he taunts and pumps his finger slowly.
All too soon he stops his motion and moves me to lie
beside him. Before I can complain, he sits up and grips the top
of my pants, the pair he seems to be so infatuated with, and
pulls them roughly down my thighs. I lift my hips to assist
him, and then he works off my panties, too.
Without speaking, he gestures for me to move up toward
the top of the bed. I push myself back using my elbows and
rest my back against the headboard. He lies on his stomach in
front of me, hooking both arms around my thighs, opening
them.
He smirks. “At least try to be quiet.”
I begin to roll my eyes, but then his warm breath hits me—
soft at first, then increasing in pressure when he gets closer.
Without warning, his tongue slides across me, and I reach over
and grab a decorative pillow, the yellow one that Hardin calls
hideous on a regular basis. I cover my face with it, using it to
muffle the involuntary sounds falling from my lips as his
tongue moves faster and faster.
Abruptly, the pillow is ripped away from my face. “No,
baby, watch me,” Hardin instructs, and I nod slowly. He brings
one thumb to his lips, and his tongue glides over me. Moving
his hand back between my thighs, he hits my most sensitive
spot. My legs tighten—his touch feels heavenly against my
clit, his finger moving in slow circles with just the lightest
touch of the tip of his finger torturing me.
Obeying his command, I gaze down at him between my
thighs, his hair messy and pushed back, standing in a wave
above his forehead, a lone lock falling down only to be pushed
back again when he dips his head down. Half seeing, half
imagining his mouth moving against me increases the
sensation drastically, and I know, I just know, I won’t be able
to stay quiet as the slow buildup of my release begins. With
one hand covering my mouth and one buried in his curls, I
being shifting my hips to meet his tongue. It just feels too
good.
I tug at his hair and feel him moan against me, sending me
closer and closer . . .
“Harder,” he gasps.
What?
He reaches up to the hand that I’ve threaded through his
hair, and places his hand on top of mine to tug at the roots of
his hair . . . He wants me to pull his hair?
“Do it,” he says with a wanting look, and then begins to
move his fingers in fast circles and lowers his head to add his
tongue to the sensation. I tug at his hair, hard, and he looks up
at me, his eyes fluttering closed. When they open they’re a
bright, burning jade. He holds my gaze as my vision blurs and
disappears momentarily.
“Come on, baby,” he whispers.
I notice his hand reach down between his legs, and I can’t
hold it any longer. I watch his hand stroking his hard cock,
bringing himself to orgasm with me. I will never get used to
the way his actions make me feel. Watching him touching
himself, feeling the hot puffs of air against me as his breathing
grows heavier . . .
“You taste so fucking good, baby,” he moans against me,
his hand moving quicker between his legs. I barely feel my
teeth sinking into my palm as I ride out my high, still pulling
at his hair.
I blink. And blink some more, lazily.
As I come back to consciousness, I feel him adjust his
weight and lay his head on my stomach. I open my eyes to
find him with his closed, his chest moving up and down, his
breath shallow.
I lift him by his shoulder and attempt to move between his
legs.
He stops and looks at me. “I . . . um, I’m already done,” he
says.
I stare at him.
“I already came . . .” His voice is thick with exhaustion.
“Oh.”
He smiles a lazy, half-drunk smile and stands up from the
bed. He strides over to the dresser and opens his bottom
drawer, grabbing a pair of white gym shorts.
“I need to shower and change, obviously.” He points to the
crotch of his jeans, where, despite their dark color, the wet
spot is evident.
“Just like old times?” I smile, and he looks at me, smiling
back.
Hardin comes over and places a kiss on my forehead, then
one on my lips. “Good to know you haven’t lost your touch,”
he says, walking to the door.
“It wasn’t my touch,” I remind him, and he shakes his head,
leaving the room.
I reach for my clothes at the end of the bed, praying that my
father is still asleep on the couch, and that if by chance he is
awake, he doesn’t stop Hardin on his way to the bathroom.
Seconds later the bathroom door closes, and I stand to get
dressed.
When I’m done I check my phone for a voicemail from
Sandra, but there’s nothing. What I do see is the small
envelope in the corner of my screen indicating a new text
message; maybe she’s busy and decided to text me.
I click it open and read: I need to talk to you.
I sigh when I next read the sender’s name: Zed.
I delete the message and set my phone back on the desk.
Then curiosity gets the best of me, and I look around for
Hardin’s phone. My heart pounds as I remember the last time I
went snooping through it. That didn’t end well.
But this time I know he’s not hiding anything. He wouldn’t
be. We’re in a completely different place now than we were
before. He got a tattoo for me . . . he just won’t move for me. I
have nothing to worry about. Right?
I check the dresser after not seeing it on the desk, then
figure he must have taken it with him to the bathroom.
Because that’s normal, right?
I have nothing to worry about; I’m just stressed and
paranoid, I remind myself.
Before I continue down the rabbit hole of worry, I remind
myself that I shouldn’t be going through his cell phone
anyway, that I would be furious if he did that to me.
He probably does, though. I just haven’t caught him.
The bedroom door clicks open, and I jump as if I’ve been
caught doing something I shouldn’t be. Hardin strides in,
shirtless, barefoot, wearing the gym shorts, the black line of
his boxers showing.
“You okay?” he asks, rubbing a white towel over his soaked
hair. I love the way his hair appears black when it’s wet; the
contrast with his green eyes is something one can only dream
about.
“Yeah. That wasn’t a long shower.” I sit down on the chair.
“I should have gotten you dirtier,” I say, trying to distract him
from the slight quaver in my voice.
“I was in a hurry to see you,” he says unconvincingly.
I smile. “You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” he admits with an amused grin. “I got hungry.”
“Thought so.”
“Your dad’s still asleep—is he going to stay here while
we’re gone?”
Excitement overtakes any worry I had. “You’re coming?”
“Yeah, I guess. If it’s as lame as I know it will be, I’m only
staying one night.”
“Okay,” I say with understanding. But inside I’m beaming,
knowing that he won’t leave early. He just has to keep up
appearances by complaining about this sort of thing.
He licks his lips, and I think back to him between my
thighs. “Can I ask you something?” I say.
His eyes meet mine, and he nods. “Yeah?” He sits on the
bed.
“When you . . . you know, was it because I was pulling
your hair?”
“What?” He laughs lightly.
“When I pulled at your hair, you liked it?” I flush.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Oh.” I can’t imagine the shade of red I’m turning right
now.
“Is that weird to you? That I liked it?”
“No, I’m just curious,” I tell him truthfully.
“Everyone has certain things they like during sex; that’s
one of mine. I didn’t know it until just now, though.” He
smiles, completely unfazed that we’re talking about this.
“Oh yeah?” I get excited at the thought that he learned
something new while with me.
“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, my hair’s been pulled on by other
girls, but it’s different with you.”
“Oh,” I say for the tenth time, but this one leaves me
feeling flat.
Likely unaware of my reaction, Hardin looks at me with
curiosity gleaming in his green eyes. “Is there something you
like that I haven’t done?”
“No, I like everything you do,” I say softly.
“Yeah, I know, but is there something you’ve thought about
doing before that we haven’t done?”
I shake my head.
“Don’t be embarrassed, baby—everyone has fantasies.”
“I don’t.” At least, I don’t think I do. I haven’t had any
experience outside of Hardin, and I don’t know of anything
else besides what we’ve done.
“You do,” he says with a smile. “We just have to find
them.”
My stomach flutters, and I don’t know what to say.
But then my father’s voice breaks our conversation.
“Tessie?” My first thought is that I’m relieved that his voice
sounds like it’s coming from the living room and not the
hallway.
Hardin and I both stand.
“I’m going to use the restroom,” I say.
He nods with a wicked grin and heads into the living room
to join my father.
When I get into the bathroom, Hardin’s phone is sitting on
the edge of the sink.
I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop myself. I immediately
go to the call log, but it doesn’t show. All the calls have been
cleared. Not a single one is shown on the screen. I try again,
and then look at the text-message screen.
Nothing. He’s deleted everything.
chapter seventeen
TESSA
Hardin and my father are both seated at the kitchen table
when I emerge from the bathroom, Hardin’s phone in hand.
“I’m wilting away here, babe,” Hardin says when I reach
them.
My father looks over sheepishly. “I could eat . . .” he
begins, like he’s unsure.
I place my hands on the top of Hardin’s chair and he leans
his head back, his damp hair touching my fingers. “Then I
suggest you make yourself something to eat,” I say and place
his phone in front of him.
He looks up at me with a completely neutral expression.
“Okay . . .” he says and gets up and goes to the refrigerator.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
“I have my leftovers from Applebee’s.”
“Are you upset with me about taking him drinking today?”
my father asks.
I look over at him and soften my tone. I could tell what my
dad was like when I invited him in. “I’m not upset, but I don’t
want it to become a regular thing.”
“It won’t. Besides, you’re moving,” he reminds me, and I
look across the table at the man I’ve only known for two days
now.
I don’t reply. Instead I join Hardin at the fridge and pull the
freezer door open.
“What do you want to eat?” I ask him.
He looks at me with wary eyes, clearly trying to assess my
mood. “Just some chicken or something . . . or we can order
some takeout?”
I sigh. “Let’s just order something.” I don’t mean to be
short with him, but my mind is whirling with possibilities of
what was on his phone that he felt needed to be deleted.
Once ordering food becomes the plan, Hardin and my
father begin bickering over Chinese or pizza. Hardin wants
pizza, and he wins the argument by reminding my father who
will be paying for it. For his part, my father doesn’t seem
offended by Hardin’s digs. He just laughs or flips him off.
It’s a strange sight, really, to watch the two of them. After
my father left, I would often daydream about him when I saw
my friends with their fathers. I had created a vision of a man
who resembled the man I grew up with, only older, and
definitely not a homeless drunk. I had always thought of him
carrying an attaché case stuffed with important documents,
walking to his car in the morning, coffee mug in hand. I didn’t
imagine he’d still be drinking, that he’d be ravaged by it like
he’s been, and that he’d be without a place to live. I can’t
picture my mother and this man being able to hold a
conversation, let alone spending years married to each other.
“How did you and my mother meet?” I say, suddenly
voicing my thoughts.
“In high school,” he answers.
Hardin grabs his phone and leaves the room to order the
pizza. Either that or to call someone and then quickly delete
the call log.
I sit at the kitchen table across from my father. “How long
were you dating before you got married?” I ask.
“Only about two years. We got married young.”
I feel uncomfortable asking these questions, but I know I
wouldn’t have any luck getting the answers from my mother.
“Why?”
“You and your mom never talked about this?” he asks.
“No; we never talked about you. If I even tried to bring the
subject up, she shut down,” I tell him, and watch his features
transform from interest to shame.
“Oh.”
“Sorry,” I say, though I’m not sure what I’m apologizing
for.
“No, I get it. I don’t blame her.” He closes his eyes for a
moment before opening them again. Hardin strolls back into
the kitchen and sits down next to me. “To answer your
question, we got married young because she got pregnant with
you, and your grandparents hated me and tried to keep her
away from me. So we got hitched.” He smiles, enjoying the
memory.
“You got married to spite my grandparents?” I ask with a
smile.
My grandparents, may they rest in peace, were a little . . .
intense. Very intense. My childhood memories of them include
being shushed at the dinner table for laughing and being told
to take my shoes off before walking on their carpet. For
birthdays, they would send an impersonal card with a ten-year
savings bond inside—not an ideal gift for an eight-year-old.
My mother was essentially a clone of my grandmother,
only slightly less poised. She tried, though; my mother spends
her days and nights trying to be as perfect as she remembers
her own mother being.
Or, I suddenly think, as perfect as she imagines her being.
My father laughs. “In a way, yes, to piss them off. But your
mother always wanted to be married. She practically dragged
me to the altar.” He laughs again, and Hardin looks at me
before laughing as well.
I scowl at him, knowing he’s concocting some snarky
comment about me forcing him into marriage.
I turn back to my dad. “Were you against marriage?” I ask.
“No. I don’t remember, really; all I know is I was scared as
hell to have a baby at nineteen.”
“And rightfully so. We can see how that worked out for
you,” Hardin remarks.
I shoot him a glare, but my father only rolls his eyes at him.
“It’s not something I recommend, but there are a lot of
young parents that can handle it.” He lifts his hands up in
resignation. “I just wasn’t one of them.”
“Oh,” I say. I can’t imagine being a parent at my age.
He smiles, clearly open to giving me what answers he can.
“Any more questions, Tessie?”
“No . . . I think that’s all,” I say. I don’t exactly feel
comfortable around him, though in a strange way I feel more
comfortable than I would if my mother were sitting here
instead of him.
“If you think of any more, you can ask me. Until then, do
you mind if I take another shower before dinner comes?”
“Of course not. Go ahead,” I say.
It seems like he’s been here longer than two days. So much
has happened since he appeared—Hardin’s
expulsion/nonexpulsion, Zed’s appearance in the parking lot,
my lunch with Steph and Molly, the ever-disappearing call log
—just too much. This overstressful, constantly growing pile of
issues in my life doesn’t appear to be letting up anytime soon.
“What’s wrong?” Hardin asks when my father disappears
down the hall.
“Nothing.” I stand up and take a few steps before he stops
me by touching my waist and turning me around to face him.
“I know you better than that. Tell me what’s wrong,” he
softly demands, placing both hands on my hips.
I look him dead in the eyes. “You.”
“I . . . what? Talk,” he demands.
“You’re acting weird, and you deleted your text messages
and calls.”
His features twist in annoyance, and he pinches the bridge
of his nose. “Why would you be looking through my phone,
anyway?”
“Because you’re acting suspicious, and—”
“So you go through my shit? Didn’t I tell you before not to
do that?”
The look of indignation on his face is so brazen, looks so
practiced, that my blood gets boiling. “I know I shouldn’t be
going through your things—but you shouldn’t give me a
reason to. And if you don’t have anything to hide, why would
you care? I wouldn’t mind if you looked through my phone. I
have nothing to hide.” I dig mine out of my pocket and hold it
out. Then I start to worry that maybe I didn’t delete the text
from Zed on there and I panic, until Hardin waves it away like
my trust is a gnat.
“You’re just making up excuses for how psychotic you
are,” he says, his words burning me.
I don’t have anything to say. Well, actually, I have a lot to
say to him, but no words come from my mouth. I push his
hands from my hips and storm off. He said he knows me well
enough to sense when something’s wrong with me. Well, I
know him well enough to sense when he’s close to being
caught at something. Whether it be a small lie or a bet for my
virginity, the same thing happens each time: first he acts
suspicious, then when I bring it up to him he gets angry and
defensive, and finally he spits harsh words at me.
“Don’t walk away from me,” he bellows from behind me.
“Don’t follow me,” I say and disappear into the bedroom.
But he appears in the doorway a second later. “I don’t like
you going through my shit.”
“I don’t like feeling like I have to.”
He closes the door and leans his back against it. “You don’t
have to; I deleted that stuff because . . . it was an accident. It’s
nothing for you to be all worked up over.”
“Worked up? You mean ‘psychotic’?”
He sighs. “I didn’t really mean that.”
“Then stop saying things you don’t mean. Because then I
can’t tell what’s true and what’s not.”
“Then stop going through my shit. Because then I can’t tell
if I should trust you or not.”
“Fine.” I sit down at the desk.
“Fine,” he repeats and sits down on the bed.
I can’t decide if I believe him or not. Nothing adds up, but
in a way it does. Maybe he did delete the texts and calls by
accident, and maybe he was talking to Steph on the phone. The
bits and pieces of the conversation that I caught fuel my
imagination, but I don’t want to ask Hardin about it because I
don’t want him to know I overheard them. It’s not like he’d
tell me what they talked about anyway.
“I don’t want there to be secrets between us. We should be
past that,” I remind him.
“I know, fuck. There aren’t any secrets; you’re being
crazy.”
“Stop calling me crazy. You of all people shouldn’t be
calling anyone that.” I regret the words as soon as they’re out,
but he doesn’t seem fazed.
“I’m sorry, okay? You’re not crazy,” he says, then smiles.
“You just go through my phone.”
I force a smile in return and try to convince myself that he’s
right, that I’m being paranoid. Worst-case scenario, he’s hiding
something from me. I’ll find out eventually, so there isn’t any
point in obsessing over it now. I’ve found out everything else.
I mentally repeat the logic over and over until I’m
convinced.
My father yells something from the other room, and Hardin
says, “I think the pizza’s here. You’re not going to be mad at
me all night, are you?”
But he leaves the room without giving me a chance to
answer.
I swivel on my seat and look at where I laid my phone on
the desk. Curious, I check it, and sure enough, I have another
new text from Zed. I don’t bother to read it this time.
THE NEXT DAY is my last at the old office, and I drive
slower than usual to work. I want to take in every street, every
building on the way. This paid internship has been a dream
come true. I know I’ll be working for Vance in Seattle, but this
area is where it started, where my career started.
Kimberly is sitting at her desk when I step off the elevator.
Multiple brown boxes are stacked near the side of her desk.
“Good morning!” she chirps.
“Good morning.” My voice isn’t capable of sounding as
cheery as hers. I’d come off nervous and awkward.
“Ready for your last week here?” she asks as I fill a small
Styrofoam cup with coffee.
“Yes—my last day, actually. I’m going on a trip for the rest
of the week,” I remind her.
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Wow! Your last day! I should
have gotten you a card or something.” She smiles. “But then, I
could just give it to you next week at your new office.”
I laugh. “Are you ready to go? When will you be leaving?”
“Friday! Our new house is already unpacked and ready for
us to arrive.”
I’m quite certain that Kimberly and Christian’s new home
is lovely, large and modern, much like the house they’re
moving from. Kimberly’s engagement ring sparkles under the
light, and I can’t help but stare at the beautiful band every time
I see it.
“I’m still waiting for the woman to call me back about my
apartment,” I tell her, and she turns to look at me.
“What? You don’t have an apartment yet?”
“I do—I sent her the paperwork already. We just have to go
over the details of the lease.”
“You only have six days,” Kimberly says, looking panicked
for me.
“I know, I have it under control,” I assure her, hoping it’s
true.
If this had been happening a few months ago, I’d have had
every detail of this move planned, but lately I’ve been too
stressed to focus on anything, even the move to Seattle.
“Okay; if you need help, just let me know,” she offers as
she turns her attention to the phone ringing on her desk.
When I get back to my office, there are a few empty boxes
on the floor. I don’t have many personal items, so it shouldn’t
take long to pack.
Twenty minutes later, as I tape the last box closed, there’s a
gentle knock at the door. “Come in,” I say loudly.
For a moment I wonder if it’s Hardin, but when I turn
around Trevor is standing in the doorway wearing light jeans
and a plain white T-shirt. I’m always caught off guard when
he’s dressed casually; I’m so used to seeing him in a suit.
“Are you ready for the big move?” he asks as I attempt to
lift a box that I packed too full.
“Yeah, almost. Are you?” He walks over and picks up the
box for me, placing it on the desk.
“Thanks.” I smile and wipe my hands on the sides of my
green dress.
“I am. I’m heading out today as soon as I finish up here.”
“That’s amazing. I know you’ve been ready to move to
Seattle since last time we were there.”
I can feel embarrassment spread over my cheeks as I watch
it spread across his. “Last time we were there,” Trevor took
me to a nice dinner, only to have me reject his kiss and then
later be threatened and shoved by Hardin. I have no idea why I
just brought that up.
He looks at me blankly. “That was an interesting weekend.
Anyway, I know you have to be pumped, too. You’ve always
wanted to live in Seattle.”
“Yeah, I can’t wait.”
Trevor looks around my office. “I know it’s none of my
business, but is Hardin moving to Seattle with you?”
“No.” My mouth answers before my mind can catch up.
“Well, I’m not sure yet. He says he doesn’t want to, but I’m
hoping that he’ll change his mind . . .” I continue to ramble,
the words coming out quickly, too quickly, and Trevor looks
somewhat uncomfortable as he shoves his hands into his jean
pockets before finally interrupting me.
“Why wouldn’t he want to go with you?”
“I’m not sure, really, but I hope he does.” I sigh and sit
down in my leather desk chair.
Trevor’s blue eyes meet mine. “He’s crazy if he doesn’t.”
“He’s crazy either way.” I laugh, trying to diminish the
growing tension in the room.
He laughs, too, and shakes his head. “Well, I better finish
up so I can get on the road. But I’ll see you in Seattle.”
With a smile he leaves my office, and for some reason I feel
slightly guilty. I reach for my phone and text Hardin, casually
letting him know that Trevor stopped by my office. For once,
Hardin’s jealousy appeals to me—maybe he’ll find himself too
jealous of Trevor and decide to move to Seattle after all? It
doesn’t seem likely, but I can’t help but hold on to the last
thread of hope that he’ll change his mind. The clock is running
out; six days is not very long for him to plan. He’d have to put
in a transfer request, which shouldn’t be a problem,
considering Ken’s position.
Six days doesn’t seem long enough for me either, though
I’m ready for Seattle. I have to be. This is my future, and I
can’t center it around Hardin when he isn’t willing to
compromise. I offered a fair plan: we move to Seattle first, and
if it doesn’t work out, we can go to England. But he didn’t
give it a second thought before declining. I’m hoping this
whale-watching trip we have planned with his family will
make him see that he can join me, Landon, Ken, and Karen in
trying new things, that doing something fun and positive isn’t
too difficult.
Then again, this is Hardin I’m talking about, and nothing is
easy when it comes to him.
The phone on my desk rings, distracting me from my
stressful thoughts about Seattle. “You have a visitor,”
Kimberly says into my ear, and my heart leaps at the thought
of seeing Hardin.
It’s only been a few hours, but I always miss him when
we’re apart. “Tell Hardin to come on back. I’m surprised he
even waited for you to call me,” I say.
Kimberly clicks her tongue. “Um, it’s not Hardin.”
Maybe Hardin brought my father here? “Is it an older man
with a beard?”
“No . . . young guy . . . like Hardin,” she practically
whispers.
“Does he have bruises on his face?” I ask, despite the fact
that I already know the answer.
“Yeah; should I make him leave?”
I don’t want to make her force Zed to leave, and he hasn’t
done anything wrong, except to not listen to Hardin’s
instructions to stay away from me. “No, it’s fine. He’s my
friend. You can let him back.”
Why would he come here? I’m sure it has something to do
with me ignoring him, but I don’t understand what could be so
urgent that he’d drive forty minutes to tell me.
I hang up the phone and debate whether or not to text
Hardin and tell him about Zed’s arrival. I toss my phone into
my desk drawer and close it. Nearly the last thing I need is for
Hardin to come here, since he won’t be able to control his
anger and will surely cause a scene on my last day at work.
The last thing I need is for him to get arrested, again.
chapter eighteen
TESSA
When I pull open the door to my office, Zed is standing in the
hall like the angel of death. He’s dressed in a black-and-red-
plaid sweatshirt, dark jeans, and sneakers. The swelling on his
face hasn’t gone down much, but the bruising around the
edges of his eyes and nose have lightened from dark purple to
a greenish blue.
“Hey . . . I’m sorry for coming here like this,” he says.
“Is something wrong?” I ask and walk back over to my
desk.
He stands awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before
stepping into the room. “No. Well, yes, I’ve been trying to talk
to you since yesterday, but you haven’t been answering my
texts.”
“I know; it’s just that Hardin and I already have enough
issues without me creating even more, and he doesn’t want me
to talk to you anymore.”
“You’re letting him tell you who you can talk to now?” Zed
sits down in the chair directly in front of my desk, and I take a
seat behind it. The way we’re seated gives an official, more
serious tone to our conversation. It’s not uncomfortable, just
too formal.
I look out the window before answering.
“No, it’s not like that. I know he’s a little overbearing and
may go about things the wrong way, but I can’t say I blame
him for not wanting me to be friends with you anymore. I
wouldn’t want him to spend time with someone he has
feelings for either,” I say, and Zed’s eyes widen.
“What did you say?”
Dammit. “Nothing, I just meant . . .” The air grows thick,
and I could swear that the walls are closing in on me. Why did
I just say that? Not that it isn’t true, but it won’t help the
situation here.
“You have feelings for me?” he asks, his eyes lighting up
with each syllable.
“No . . . well, I did. I don’t know,” I ramble, wishing I
could slap myself for being so quick to speak without thinking.
“It’s okay if you don’t, but you shouldn’t have to lie about
it.”
“I’m not lying; I did have feelings for you. I may still have
some, honestly, but I don’t know. It’s all confusing to me. You
always say the right things, and you’ve always been there for
me. It would make sense if I did develop those feelings. I’ve
told you before that I care about you, but we both know it’s a
lost cause.”
“Why’s that?” he asks. I’m not sure how many more times I
can reject him before he understands where I’m coming from.
“Because it’s pointless. I’ll never be able to be with you. Or
anyone, for that matter. No one but him.”
“You’re only saying that because he has you trapped.”
I try to push down the anger that is slowly building as I
listen to Zed’s words about Hardin. He’s certainly entitled to
have ill feelings toward him, but I don’t like the way he’s
insinuating that I have no power or control when it comes to
my relationship.
“No; I’m saying that because I love him. And as much as I
don’t want to say it that boldly to you right now, I know that I
have to. I don’t want to lead you on more than I already have. I
know you don’t understand why I stay with him through all of
this mess, but I love him so much, more than anything, and he
doesn’t have me trapped. I want to be with him.”
It’s true. Everything I just said to Zed is true. Whether
Hardin comes to Seattle with me or not, we can try to make it
work. We can use Skype, see each other on the weekends until
he goes to England. Hopefully by then he won’t want to be
away from me after all.
Maybe the distance will make Hardin’s heart grow fonder,
his tone softer. It may be the key to getting him to agree to
move with me. Our history has proven that we aren’t very
good at staying away from one another; whether deliberately
or not, we always end up together in some way. It’s hard to
remember a time when my days and nights didn’t revolve
around this man. I’ve tried again and again to picture a life
without him, but it’s nearly impossible.
“I don’t think he gives you the chance to really think about
what you want or what’s good for you,” Zed says with
conviction, though his voice does crack. “He only cares about
himself.”
“And that’s where you’re wrong. I know you guys have
some issues between the two of you, but—”
“No, you don’t know about our issues at all,” he says
quickly. “If you did—”
“He loves me, and I him,” I interrupt. “I’m sorry that you
were brought into the middle of this. I’m so sorry; I never
wanted to hurt you.”
He frowns. “You keep saying that to me, and yet it keeps
happening.”
I hate confrontation more than anything, especially when it
involves hurting someone that I care for, but these things have
to be said so that Zed and I can close the book on this . . . I’m
not even sure how to categorize it. Situation?
Misunderstanding? Bad timing?
I look at Zed, hoping he can read the sincerity in my eyes.
“It wasn’t my intention. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to keep apologizing. I already knew this
when I made the decision to come here. You made it pretty
clear how you felt outside of the administration building.”
“Then why did you come?” I ask softly.
“To talk to you.” He looks around the room, then back at
me. “Never mind. I don’t know why I came here, really.” He
sighs.
“Are you sure? You seemed pretty determined a few
minutes ago.”
“No. It’s pointless, like you said. I’m sorry for coming.”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize,” I tell him.
We both keep saying that, I think.
He points down at the boxes on the floor. “You’re still
going, then?”
“Yeah, I’m almost ready to leave.”
The air between us has become incredibly thick, and neither
of us seems to know what to say to the other. Zed stares out
the window at the gray sky, and I stare at the carpet beyond
him.
At last he stands up and speaks, though I can barely hear
his words through the sadness in his voice. “I better go, then.
Sorry again for coming here. Good luck in Seattle, Tessa.”
I stand up as well. “I’m sorry for everything. I wish things
could’ve been different.”
“So do I. More than you know,” he says and stands up from
the chair.
My heart aches for him. He’s always been so sweet to me,
and I’ve done nothing but lead him on and reject him.
“Have you made up your mind whether you’re going to
press charges or not?” This isn’t the right time to be asking
this, but I don’t think I’ll ever see or hear from him again.
“Yeah, I’m not going to. I’m over this whole thing. There’s
no point in dragging it out. And I did tell you that if you told
me you didn’t want to see me again I would drop them, didn’t
I?”
Suddenly I feel like if Zed just looks at me in a certain way,
I’ll probably start crying. “Yeah,” I quietly respond. I feel like
Estella in Great Expectations, toying with Pip’s emotions. My
own Pip stands in front of me, caramel eyes fixed on mine.
And this is a role I don’t really want to play.
“I truly am sorry for everything. I wish we could be
friends,” I say.
“Me, too, but you’re not allowed to have friends.” He sighs,
running his fingers over his bottom lip, pinching it in the
middle.
I decide not to comment on his statement: this isn’t about
what I’m “allowed” to do. I do, however, make a mental note
to discuss this perception that other people have with Hardin
and make sure he understands that it bothers me that his
attitude makes them think this about me.
As if on cue, my office phone rings, breaking the silence
between Zed and me. I hold my finger so he doesn’t leave and
pick it up.
“Tessa.” Hardin’s rough voice carries through. Shit.
“Hey,” I say, my voice shaky.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine,” he says. Why does he have to know
me so well?
“I’m fine,” I assure him again. “Just distracted.”
“Sure. Anyway, I need to know what you want me to do
with your dad. I tried to text, but you weren’t answering me.
I’ve got shit to do, and I don’t know if I should leave him here
or what.”
I look over at Zed. He’s standing by the window now, not
looking at me. “I don’t know, can’t you take him with you?”
My heart is racing.
“No; hell, no.”
“So leave him there,” I say, just wanting this conversation
to end. I’m going to tell Hardin about Zed’s visit, but I can’t
imagine how pissed he would be if he knew he was here now,
and I sure as hell don’t want him to find out.
“Fine, you can deal with him when you get here.”
“Okay, well, I’ll see you when I get home—”
Music begins to play through my office, and it takes me a
minute to realize it’s coming from Zed. He reaches into his
pocket and silences it, but not before Hardin notices.
“What was that? Whose phone was that?” he demands.
My blood suddenly runs cold, until I take a moment to
think about this. I shouldn’t be so afraid or nervous for Hardin
to know Zed’s here. I didn’t do anything wrong; he came, and
he’s leaving. He already gets irritated when Trevor comes by
my office, and Trevor’s a coworker and entitled to stop in
anytime he wants.
“Is fucking Trevor there?”
“No, it’s not Trevor. Zed’s here,” I say and hold my breath.
The line is silent. I look at the screen to make sure the call
is still connected. “Hardin?”
“Yeah,” he says and lets out a ragged breath.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes, Tessa, I heard you.”
Okay? Why isn’t he screaming through the phone or
threatening to kill him yet?
“We’ll talk about it later. Make him leave. Please,” he
calmly requests.
“Okay . . .”
“Thank you, I’ll see you when you get home,” Hardin says
and hangs up the phone.
When I put my phone down, slightly bewildered, Zed turns
to me and says, “Sorry, I know he’s going to freak out on
you.”
“No, he won’t. He’ll be fine,” I say back, knowing it’s not
true, but it sounds good, anyway. Hardin’s reaction to Zed
being in my office caught me off guard. I’d never have
expected him to be so calm. I expected him to say he was on
his way here. I sure hope he’s not.
Zed walks toward the door again. “Okay. Well, I guess I
should go.”
“Zed, thank you for coming by. I probably won’t see you
again before I leave.”
He turns, and emotion flashes in his eyes, but it disappears
before I can decide which emotion it was. “I won’t say
meeting you hasn’t complicated my life, but I wouldn’t take it
back. I’d go through all of this shit again—the fights with
Hardin, the friendships I’ve lost, all of it. I would go through it
again, for you,” he says. “I guess it’s just my luck; of course I
can’t meet a girl who doesn’t already love someone else.”
His words always get to me, always. He’s so sincere all the
time, and I admire that about him.
“Bye, Tessa,” he says.
His words hold much more than a simple friendly goodbye,
but I can’t project too much into them. If I say the wrong
thing, or anything at all, I’ll only be leading him on, again.
“Bye, Zed.” I half smile, and he takes a step toward me.
For a moment I panic, thinking he’s going to kiss me, but
he doesn’t. He wraps his arms around me in a strong but brief
hug before placing a light kiss on my forehead. He steps away
immediately after and grabs hold of the door handle, almost
like it’s a cane.
“Be careful, okay?” he says, opening the door.
“I will. Seattle isn’t too bad.” I smile. I feel very resolved
now, like I have finally given him the closure he needed.
He frowns and turns to leave the room. As he closes the
door behind him, I hear him say gently, “I’m not talking about
Seattle.”
chapter nineteen
TESSA
As soon as the door shuts and Zed is gone—gone for good—I
close my eyes and lay my head back against the chair. I don’t
know what I’m feeling. All of my emotions are jumbled,
swirling around me in a cloud of confusion. Part of me feels
relieved to end this back-and-forth between Zed and me. But
another, smaller part feels a significant loss. Zed is the only
one of Hardin’s so-called friends who’s been there for me
constantly, and it’s strange to realize that I’ll never see him
again. The tears burn, unwelcomed, down my cheeks as I try
to collect myself. I shouldn’t be crying over this. I should be
happy that I can finally close the book on Zed, tuck it away,
leaving it only to collect dust, never to be opened again.
It’s not that I want to be with him, it’s not that I love him,
it’s not that I would ever choose him over Hardin; it’s just that
I do care for him, and I wish things had played out differently.
I wish I would have kept our relationship strictly platonic—
maybe then I wouldn’t have to completely cut him out of my
life.
I don’t know why he came back in here, but I’m glad he left
before he could say anything to confuse me or hurt Hardin
further.
My office phone rings, and I clear my throat before
answering. When I say “Hello,” I sound pathetic.
Hardin’s voice carries through strong and clear. “Did he
leave?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you crying?”
“I’m just . . .” I start.
“What?” he implores.
“I don’t know, I’m just glad it’s over.” I wipe at my eyes
again.
He sighs through the line and surprises me by simply
saying, “Me, too.”
The tears are no longer falling, but my voice is hideous.
“Thank you”—I pause—“for being understanding about this.”
That went much better than I’d expected, and I don’t know
if I should be relieved or slightly worried. I decide to go with
relieved and finish the last of my time at Vance as peacefully
as possible.
Around three, Kimberly stops by my office; behind her is a
girl who I’m sure I’ve never seen at the office before.
“Tessa, this is Amy, my replacement,” Kimberly says,
introducing the quiet yet stunning girl.
I get up from where I’m reading, trying to reassure Amy
with a friendly smile. “Hi, Amy. I’m Tessa. You’ll love it
here.”
“Thank you! I already love it,” she says excitedly.
Kim laughs. “Well, I just wanted to stop by your office
while we were pretending to be taking a tour of the building.”
“Oh yes. You’re teaching her to replace you, all right,” I
tease.
“Hey! Being engaged to the boss has its perks,” Kim jokes
back.
Beside her, Amy laughs, and then Kimberly leads her down
another hallway. My last day here finally ends, and I find
myself wishing it could have gone slower. I’m going to miss
this place, and I’m slightly nervous to go home to Hardin.
I take one last look around my first office. My eyes focus
on the desk first. My stomach tightens as memories of Hardin
and me on the desk flood my senses. It seems so extreme:
having sex in an office when anyone could walk in at any
moment. I was too distracted by Hardin to think of anything
else . . . which seems to be a pattern in my everyday life.
ON THE WAY HOME I stop by Conner’s to get a few
groceries—just enough to make dinner tonight, since we’re
leaving in the morning. I’m excited but nervous about the trip.
I hope Hardin can keep his temper in check for the two-day
vacation with his family.
Since that doesn’t seem likely, my next hope is that the boat
is big enough for the five of us to have a little breathing room.
Back at the apartment, I unlock the front door and push it
open with my foot, picking up the grocery bags from the floor
as I step inside. The living room is a mess; empty water bottles
and food wrappers litter the coffee table. My father and Hardin
sit on opposite ends of the couch.
“How was your day, Tessie?” my father asks, craning his
neck to look over at me.
“Good. It was my last day there,” I tell him even though he
already knows. I begin to clear their trash from the table and
floor.
“I’m happy you had a good day,” my father says.
I look at Hardin, who doesn’t look at me. His gaze is fixed
on the television screen.
“I’m going to make dinner, then get in the shower,” I tell
them, and my father follows me into the kitchen.
As I unload the grocery bags and put the ground beef and
box of taco shells on the counter, my father watches me with
interest. At last, he says, “One of my friends said he can pick
me up here later, if that’s okay. I know you’re leaving
tomorrow for a few days.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. We can drop you off in the morning if
that would be better for you,” I offer.
“No, you’ve already been so generous. Just promise me
you’ll let me know when you get back from your trip.”
“Okay . . . how will I get in touch with you?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Maybe just drive down
Lamar? I’m usually out there.”
“Okay, I will.”
“I’ll go call him back now and let him know I’m ready.” He
disappears from the kitchen.
I hear Hardin teasing my father about the fact that he has to
memorize phone numbers because he doesn’t own a phone,
and I roll my eyes when my father begins the when-I-was-a-
kid-no-one-had-cell-phones speech.
Tacos with ground beef are easy to make and don’t require
too much thought. I wish Hardin would come into the kitchen
and talk to me, but I suppose it’s better if he waits until my
father leaves. I set up the table for dinner and call for the two
of them. Hardin enters first, barely making eye contact with
me, followed by my father.
As he sits, my father says, “Chad will be here soon to get
me. I appreciate you guys letting me stay. It was mighty
generous of you two.” He looks back and forth between
Hardin and me. “Thank you so much, Tessie, H-bomb,” he
adds. The way Hardin rolls his eyes at my father, I can tell this
is some inside joke between them.
“It’s no problem, really,” I tell him.
“I’m just so glad we found each other again,” he says and
starts eating his meal with an animated ferocity.
“Me, too . . .” I smile, still not able to process that this man
is my father. The man that I haven’t seen in nine years, the
man who I had so many ill feelings toward, is just sitting in
my kitchen eating with my boyfriend and me.
I look over to Hardin, expecting a rude comment from him,
but he says nothing and quietly eats his meal. His silence is
driving me mad. I wish he’d just say something . . . anything,
really.
Sometimes his silence is far worse than his yelling.
chapter twenty
HARDIN
After we finish eating, Tessa gives her father her final,
somewhat stiff goodbye and heads into the bathroom for a
shower. I was planning on getting in the shower with her, but
Richard’s friend is taking all damn night to pick his ass up.
“Is he coming today or . . .” I begin.
Richard nods about twenty times, but then looks at the
window with a slightly worried expression. “Yeah, yeah, he
said he’d be here soon. He probably just got lost or
something.”
“Sure,” I say.
He smiles. “Won’t you miss having me around?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Well, maybe I’ll find myself a job and see you both in
Seattle.”
“Neither of us will be in Seattle.”
He looks at me sagely. “Sure,” he repeats, using my word
from moments ago.
A knock at the door ends our obnoxious conversation, and
as he goes to answer it, I stand up. Just in case he needs an
extra little push out the door.
“Thanks for picking me up, man,” Tessa’s dad says to his
friend, who remains in the doorway but peeks his head in
farther. He’s tall, with long black hair swept back in a
disgusting, greasy ponytail. His cheeks are sunken in, his
clothes are ratty, and his fingernails are black lines on filthy,
bony hands.
What the fuck.
The man’s gravelly voice matches his appearance when he
asks with some awe, “This is your daughter’s place?”
This man is no drunk.
“Yeah. Nice, huh? I’m proud of her.” Richard smiles, and
the guy pats his shoulder, nodding in agreement.
“Who’s this?” the man asks.
They both look over at me. Richard smiles. “Oh, him?
That’s Hardin, Tessie’s boyfriend.”
“Cool, I’m Chad,” he states, saying it almost like he’s a
local personality I should somehow know.
Not a drunk. So much worse.
“Okay,” I say, watching his eyes as they move around our
living room. I’m relieved that Tessa’s in the shower and
doesn’t have to meet this creep.
When I hear the bathroom door open, I curse at myself. I
spoke too fucking soon. Chad lifts his long-sleeved shirt to
scratch at his arms, making me feel like Tessa for a moment as
I get a sudden urge to mop the fucking floor.
“Hardin?” Her voice travels down the hall.
“You should go now,” I tell the scraggly pair before me in
the most threatening tone possible.
“I want to meet her,” Chad says with a dark twinkle in his
eye, and I have to concentrate to keep myself in my place and
not throw both these bags of bones into the hallway and out
the window.
“No. You don’t,” I say.
Richard looks at me. “Okay . . . okay . . . we’re going,” he
says and starts ushering his friend out. “I’ll see you later,
Hardin. Thanks again. Stay out of jail.” And with a smirk and
that parting shot, he leaves the apartment.
“Hardin?” Tessa calls again as she enters the living room.
“They just left.”
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“What’s wrong? Hmm . . . let’s see. Zed came to your
office, and your drunk of a dad just brought some creepy
fucking dude into our apartment.” A brief pause, and I add,
“Are you sure your dad only drinks?”
“What?” The shoulder of her T-shirt—well, my T-shirt—
slips down to bare her shoulder. She pushes it back up and sits
down on the couch. “What do you mean, ‘only drinks’?”
Looking at her, I don’t want to plant the seed that her dad’s
not only a homeless drunk but a drug addict, too. He doesn’t
look as bad as the asshole who just came to pick him up, but I
still have a weird feeling about this shit. Even so, I just say, “I
don’t know. Never mind, I was just thinking out loud.”
“Okay . . .” she quietly answers.
I know her well enough to be certain that the thought of her
father being on drugs hasn’t crossed her mind and that she’d
never guess I’m thinking it from what I said.
“Are you mad at me?” Her voice is soft, too timid.
I know she’s waiting for me to explode any moment. I have
been purposely avoiding conversation with her for a reason.
“No.”
“Are you sure?” She looks at me with those big, beautiful
eyes, begging for me to say something.
They do the trick.
“No, I’m not sure. I don’t know. I’m really mad, yeah, but I
don’t want to fight with you over it. I’m trying to change, you
know? Keep my shit together and not flip out on you over
every little thing.” I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Even
though this isn’t a little thing. I’ve told you time and time
again not to see Zed, but you still do.” I look at her coldly—
not to be mean, but because I have to see how her eyes react
when I add, “How would you feel if I did that to you?”
She practically crumples before my eyes. “I would feel
terrible. I know I’ve been wrong for seeing him,” she says
without defense.
Well, I wasn’t expecting that. I was expecting her to yell at
me and stick up for that shithead Zed, like always. “Yes, you
have,” I say, then sigh. “But if you say you told him it’s done,
then it’s done. I’ve done everything I can do to keep him away
from you, but he doesn’t stop. So you have to be the one to
keep him away.”
“It’s done, I swear. I won’t see him again.”
She looks up at me, and I shudder at the thought of her on
the phone earlier, her crying over their goodbye.
“We aren’t going to that party on Saturday,” I say, and her
face falls.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Actually, I know it
isn’t.
“I want to go.” She presses her full lips into a line.
“We aren’t going,” I tell her again.
Her spine shoots up a little, and she pushes back. “If I want
to go, I’ll go.”
Fuck, she’s so fucking stubborn. “Can we please just
discuss it later? We have shit to do if you want me to go on
this fucking stupid-ass boat shit.”
She smiles playfully. “Could you fit any more curse words
in that sentence?”
And I smile as I have a vision of her bent over my knee for
being so smarmy. She’d probably like that, actually: lying
across my lap, my hand hitting her skin, not too hard, just hard
enough to turn the skin pink . . .
“Hardin?”
My perverted thoughts interrupted, I push them away . . .
for now. She would hide behind her hands if I told her what I
was daydreaming about.
chapter twenty-one
TESSA
I shake his arm again, roughly this time. “Hardin! You have to
get up—now. We’re going to be late.”
I’m already dressed and ready, our bags have already been
placed in the car, and I’ve given him as much time to sleep as
possible. Heck, last night I even did all the packing, not that he
would’ve done a very good job of it anyway.
“Not . . . going,” he groans.
“Please get up!” I whine and tug at his arm. God, I wish he
was a morning person like me.
He covers his face with the pillow, and I grab it and toss it
onto the floor. “No, go away.”
I decide to take a different approach and bring my hand to
the front of his boxers. He fell asleep in his jeans last night,
and I had a hell of a time tugging them down his legs without
waking him. But now he’s been left vulnerable, and
manipulable.
My fingernails gently graze the inked skin just above the
waistband . . . He doesn’t budge.
I dip my hand fully into his boxers, and he opens his eyes.
“Good morning,” he says with a lusty smile.
I remove my hand and stand up. “Get up.”
He yawns dramatically and looks down at his boxers and
says, “Looks like I . . . already . . . am.” When he doesn’t look
back up, I see he’s pretending to be asleep again, and soon he
starts making loud cartoon snoring noises. It’s inconvenient,
but adorable and playful; I hope he remains this way for the
rest of the week—really, I’ll settle for the rest of the day.
I reach into his boxers again, and when his eyes pop open
to look at me like an eager puppy, I say, “Uh-uh,” and pull my
hand back out.
“Not fair,” he whines.
But he does get up, pulling yesterday’s jeans back on. He
walks over to the dresser and grabs a black shirt, looks at me,
then puts it back and pulls out a white one. He runs his fingers
through his hair, making it stand straight up before pushing it
back down.
“Do I have time to brush my teeth?” His tone is sarcastic,
and his voice is raspy from sleep.
“Yes, hurry up. Brush your teeth so we can go,” I instruct
and do a quick walk-through of the apartment to make sure
everything is in order.
Minutes later, Hardin joins me in the living room, and we
finally leave.
KEN, KAREN, AND LANDON are waiting for us in the
driveway when we arrive.
I roll down the window. “Sorry we’re a few minutes late,” I
apologize as we pull up next to where they stand.
“It’s okay! We figured we’d all ride together since it’s quite
a drive,” Karen says with a smile.
“Fuck, no,” Hardin whispers next to me.
“Come on.” She gestures to the black SUV filling the other
half of the driveway. “Ken bought me this for my birthday, and
we never use it.”
“No; hell, no,” Hardin says a little louder.
“It’ll be fine,” I say quietly, to him.
“Tessa . . .” he begins.
“Hardin, please don’t make this difficult, please,” I beg.
Maybe, just maybe, I blink my eyes seductively, hoping that
will work.
After looking at me for a moment, his eyes finally soften.
“Fine. Fuck, you’re lucky I love you.”
I squeeze his hand. “Thank you.” Then I turn back to
Karen. “Okay,” I say with a smile and turn off my car.
Hardin puts our bags into the back of Karen’s SUV,
scowling the whole time.
“This is going to be fun!” Landon laughs as I climb into the
car.
Hardin sits next to me in the back row after making a
comment about not having to sit next to Landon. As Ken pulls
onto the street, Karen turns on the radio and begins to sing
along softly.
“This is some shit straight from a corny comedy,” Hardin
says and puts his hand over mine before pulling them both to
his lap.
chapter twenty-two
TESSA
Wisconsin!” Karen says loudly, clapping her hands together,
then pointing at a passing truck.
I can’t help but laugh at Hardin’s horrified expression. “Oh
my fucking God,” he huffs, laying his head back on the seat.
“Would you stop? She’s having fun,” I scold him.
“Texas!” Landon calls out.
“Just open the door, and I’ll jump out here,” Hardin adds.
“So dramatic,” I tease and look over at him. “So she plays
the license-plate game? I’d think you could relate—you and
your friends seem awful fond of silly games, too, like Truth or
Dare.”
Before Hardin can say something smart back, Karen
exclaims, “We’re so excited for you two to see the boat and
the cabin!”
I look over at her. “Cabin?” I ask.
“Yeah, we have a small cabin on the water there. I think
you’ll like it, Tessa,” she says.
I’m so relieved to find that I won’t have to sleep on the
boat, like I’d assumed.
“I’m hoping the sun stays out—this weather is nice for
February. It’s even better in the summer. Maybe we can all
come back?” Ken asks, looking in the rearview mirror.
“Yeah,” Landon and I answer in unison.
Hardin rolls his eyes. Apparently he’s going to stick to his
pouty, childlike persona for the remainder of the drive.
“Do you have everything ready for Seattle, Tessa?” Ken
asks. “I spoke with Christian yesterday, and he’s really looking
forward to you coming.”
I feel Hardin’s eyes on me, but I’m not going to let that stop
me. “I plan to start packing when we get back, but I’ve already
enrolled in my classes at the new campus,” I tell him.
“That campus is nothing compared to mine,” Ken teases,
and Karen laughs. “No, it really is a nice campus. If you have
any trouble, let me know.”
I smile, happy to have him on my side. “Thank you, I will.”
“Come to think of it,” he goes on, “we’re getting a new
professor from the Seattle campus next week. He’s replacing
one of our religion professors.”
“Oh, which one?” Landon asks, looking at me with a raised
brow.
“Soto, the young one.” Ken looks in the rearview mirror
again. “He’s your professor right now, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, he is,” Landon answers.
“I don’t remember where he’s going, but I think he’s
transferring out,” Ken says.
“Good thing,” Landon remarks under his breath, but I catch
it and smile at him. Neither one of us really likes Professor
Soto’s style and lack of academic rigor. Though I did enjoy the
journaling he had us do.
Karen’s voice is soft, and it slides between my thoughts.
“Do the two of you have a place already?”
“No. I had an apartment, or so I thought, but the woman
seems to have dropped off the face of the earth. It was perfect,
too, right in my budget and close to the office,” I tell her.
Hardin shifts a little beside me, and I want to add that he
isn’t joining me in Seattle, but I’m hoping to use this trip to
convince him otherwise, so I stay quiet.
“You know, Tessa, I have a few friends in Seattle. I can see
about getting you a place before Monday, if you’d like,” Ken
offers.
“No,” Hardin says quickly.
I look over at him. “Actually, I would like that,” I say and
meet Ken’s reflected gaze. “Otherwise I’ll be spending a
fortune staying at a hotel until I can find a place.”
Hardin waves his dad off. “It’s fine. I’m sure Sandra will
call her back.”
That’s strange, I think and look at him. “How’d you know
her name?” I ask.
“What?” He blinks a couple of times. “You’ve only said it
one hundred times.”
“Oh,” I say, and he spreads his hand across my thigh,
squeezing gently.
“Well, just let me know if you want me to call anyone,”
Ken offers again.
AFTER ANOTHER TWENTY MINUTES or so, Karen looks
back at us, excitement bursting through her expression. “So
how about I Spy?”
Landon’s lips turn up into a vibrant smile. “Yeah, Hardin,
how about I Spy?”
Hardin leans against me, his head on my shoulder, and his
arm wraps around me. “I’m good. I mean, it sounds
wonderful, but it’s nap time for me. I’m sure Tessa and
Landon would love to play.”
Despite his mocking the game, the public intimacy warms
me and makes me smile. I remember a time when Hardin
would only hold my hand under the dinner table at his father’s
house, and now he doesn’t seem fazed to be holding me in
front of his family.
“Okay! I’ll go first,” Karen says. “I spy with my little
eye . . . something . . . blue!” she squeals.
Hardin chuckles lightly, against me. “Ken’s shirt,” he
whispers and nuzzles further into me.
“The navigation screen?” Landon guesses.
“No,”
“Ken’s shirt?” I ask.
“Yes! Tessa, it’s your turn now.”
Hardin pinches me a little in acknowledgment, but I’m
focused on Karen’s massive smile. She’s having way too much
fun with these cheesy games, but she’s too sweet for me to not
to play along.
“Okay, I spy something”—I look down at Hardin—“black.”
“Hardin’s soul!” Landon shouts, and I laugh.
Hardin opens one eye and sticks up a middle finger at his
stepbrother.
“You’re right!” I exclaim, giggling.
“Well then, the lot of you can shut up so me and my black
soul can get some sleep,” he says, eyes closed.
We ignore him and continue, and only a few minutes later
Hardin’s breathing turns heavy and he begins to snore lightly
into my neck. He mumbles for a moment before sliding down,
putting his head on my lap and bringing his other arm around
my waist. Landon seems to take that as a cue and lies across
the middle seat, joining Hardin in sleep. Even Karen times out
and ends up falling asleep.
I enjoy the silence as I stare out the window, watching the
lush scenery shoot past us.
“We’re getting close, only a few more miles,” Ken says to
the car, to nobody in particular.
I nod in acknowledgment and run my fingers through
Hardin’s soft hair. His eyelids flutter lightly under my touch,
but he doesn’t wake up. I trail my fingers down his back,
slowly, taking in the view of him sleeping so peacefully, his
arms wrapped tightly around my body.
Soon we turn onto a small street, the entirety of it lined
with large pine trees. Silently, I watch out the window as we
turn onto another street and round a corner, bringing the coast
into view with sudden immediacy. It’s beautiful.
Glittering blue water meets the shoreline, creating a
gorgeous contrast. The grass is brown, though, dead from a
harsher-than-normal Washington winter. I can’t imagine how
beautiful this place must be in the summer.
“Here we are,” Ken says, pulling into a long driveway.
I look toward the front of the car and see a large wooden
cabin. Clearly, the Scotts’ definition of “small cabin” is very
different from mine. The one I’m looking at is two stories tall,
made entirely of dark cherrywood, and has a white-trimmed
porch wrapping around the ground floor.
“Hardin, wake up.” I run my index finger over his jawline.
His eyes open, and he blinks rapidly, confused for a
moment, then he sits up and wipes his eyes with his knuckles.
“Honey, we’re here,” Ken says to his wife, and she lifts up
her head, followed by her son.
Still a little dazed, Hardin carries our bags inside, where
Ken shows him to the room we’re staying in. I follow Karen
into the kitchen while Landon takes his bags to his room as
well.
The cathedral-style ceiling in the living room is repeated in
the kitchen on a smaller scale. It takes me a moment to figure
out what’s so peculiar about this room, but then I see that the
kitchen here is a smaller, yet equally elegant version of the
Scotts’ kitchen at home.
“This place is beautiful,” I say to Karen. “Thank you for
inviting us.”
“Thank you, dear. It’s nice to finally have company in it.”
She smiles and opens the refrigerator. “We love having the two
of you here. I’d never have thought that Hardin would come
along on a family trip. I know it’s a short one, but this means
the world to Ken,” she says, speaking softly to ensure I’m the
only one to hear.
“I’m glad he came along, too, I think he’ll enjoy himself.” I
say the words hoping that once they’re out there in the air,
they’ll come true.
Karen turns and grabs my hand warmly. “I sure will miss
you when you go to Seattle. I haven’t had much time with
Hardin, but I’ll miss him, too.”
“I’ll still be around. It’s only a couple hours away,” I assure
her. And myself, really.
I’m going to miss her and Ken. And I can’t even allow my
mind to wander into thoughts of Landon’s looming departure.
Even though I’m leaving for Seattle before he leaves for New
York, I’m not ready for him to be so far away. Being in
Seattle, I’ll still be in the same state at least. But New York is
far, so far.
“I hope so. With Landon gone, too, I’m afraid I’ll be lost.
I’ve been a mother for nearly twenty years . . .” She begins to
tear up. “I’m sorry, I’m just so proud of him.” She dabs at her
eyes with her fingers, stopping the tears, and looks around the
kitchen, like she’ll find a task that will stop this feeling she’s
having. “Maybe the three of you can run to the store down the
road while Ken gets the boat ready.”
“Yeah, of course we can,” I say as the three men enter the
room.
Hardin comes up behind me. “I left the bags on the bed for
you to unpack. I know I’d do it wrong.”
“Thank you,” I say, grateful that he didn’t even try. He likes
to shove things haphazardly into dresser drawers, and it drives
me mad. “I told Karen we’d go to the store for her while your
father gets the boat ready.”
“Okay.” He shrugs.
“You, too.” I turn to Landon, who nods.
“Landon knows where it is; it’s just down the road. You can
walk or take the car. The keys are hanging by the door,” Ken
says as we head out.
The weather is forgiving today, and the sun makes it feel
much warmer than it should be this early in the year. The sky
is a clear blue. I can hear the waves crashing and smell the salt
in the air each time the wind blows. We decide to walk down
to the small store at the end of the street, and I’m comfortable
in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt.
“This place is so nice, it feels like we’re in our own world,”
I say to Hardin and Landon.
“We are in our own world. No one bothers to come to the
beach in fucking February,” Hardin comments.
“Well, I think it’s nice,” I say, ignoring his attitude.
“Anyway”—Landon looks at Hardin, who is kicking at the
rocks as we walk down the gravel road—“Dakota has an
audition for a small production this week.”
“Really?” I say. “That’s so great!”
“Yeah, she’s really excited. I hope she gets the part.”
“Didn’t she just start school, though? Why would they give
the part to an amateur?” Hardin’s voice is calm, wondering.
“Hardin . . .”
“They would give her the part because regardless of her
being an amateur or not, she’s an excellent dancer and has
been studying ballet her entire life,” Landon fires back.
Hardin holds up his hands comically. “Don’t get testy, I’m
just saying.”
But Landon defends his love. “Well, don’t, she’s talented,
and she’s going to get the part.”
Hardin rolls his eyes. “Okay . . . damn.”
“It’s nice that you support her.” I smile at Landon in an
attempt to break up the tension brewing between him and
Hardin.
“I’ll always support her, no matter what she does. That’s
why I’m moving all the way to New York.” Landon looks at
Hardin, and Hardin’s jaw tenses.
“So this is how this trip is going to be, then? The two of
you fucking ganging up on me? Count me fucking out, then. I
didn’t even want to come on this shit anyway.” Hardin spits.
The three of us stop walking, and Landon and I both turn to
Hardin. I’m thinking about how to calm him down, when
Landon suddenly says, “Well, then you shouldn’t have come.
We’d all have a better time without you and your sour attitude
anyway.”
My eyes widen at Landon’s harsh remark, and I feel the
urge to defend Hardin, but I stay quiet. Besides, Landon’s
right, mostly. Hardin shouldn’t make it his goal to ruin our trip
by having an attitude for no good reason.
“Excuse me? You’re the one with a fucking ‘attitude,’
because I said your girlfriend was an amateur.”
“No, you started being a jerk in the car,” Landon says.
“Yeah—because your mum wouldn’t stop singing along to
every fucking song on the radio and yelling state names”—
Hardin’s voice rises precipitously—“while I was trying to
enjoy the scenery.”
I step between them as Hardin tries to move toward
Landon. Landon takes a deep breath and stares at Hardin,
challenging him. “My mom is trying to make sure we all have
a nice time!”
“Well, then maybe she should—”
“Stop it, you guys. You can’t fight like this the entire time
we’re here. No one will be able to stand it, so please just stop,”
I beg, not wanting to take sides between my best friend and
my boyfriend.
They look at each other for a few more tense moments. I
nearly laugh at the way they behave like brothers despite the
fact that they try so hard not to.
“Okay.” Landon says finally, and sighs.
“Fine,” Hardin huffs.
The rest of our walk is silent, aside from Hardin’s boots
kicking at the rocks and Landon’s soft humming. The calm
after the storm . . . or before it.
Or just between them, I suppose.
“WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO wear on the boat?” I ask
Landon as we walk up the driveway to the cabin.
“Shorts, I think. It’s warm right now, but I’ll probably bring
a sweatsuit.”
“Oh.” I wish it was warmer so I could wear a swimsuit. I
don’t even own one, but the idea of shopping for one with
Hardin makes me smile.
I can picture him, saying crude and perverted things; he’d
probably end up in the dressing room with me.
I don’t think I’d stop him.
I need to stop thinking these types of things, especially
while Landon is talking about the weather, and I should at
least appear to be listening.
“The boat is insane, it’s so big,” Landon says.
“Oh . . .” I cringe. Now that we’re closer to the boat ride,
my nerves are beginning to take over.
Landon and I go into the kitchen to unpack the groceries,
and Hardin heads into the bedroom without a word.
Landon looks over his shoulder to where his stepbrother
disappeared to. “He’s pretty sensitive when it comes to talking
about Seattle. He still hasn’t agreed to go, has he?”
I look around the room to be sure no one can hear us. “No,
not exactly,” I say and chew on my bottom lip in
embarrassment.
“I don’t get it,” Landon says, looking through the bags.
“What’s so bad about Seattle that he won’t go with you? Does
he have some sort of history there?”
“No . . . well, not that I know of . . .” I start to say, but then
Hardin’s letter comes to mind. I don’t remember him
mentioning any hardships he’d gone through in Seattle. Could
he have left them out?
I don’t think so. And I hope not. I’m not ready for any more
surprises.
“Well, there has to be a reason, because he can’t even go to
the bathroom without you, so I can’t imagine him being okay
with you moving away without him. I thought he’d do
anything to keep you close to him . . . literally anything,”
Landon says with emphasis.
“Me, too.” I sigh, not knowing why Hardin has to be so
stubborn. “And he does go to the bathroom without me.
Sometimes,” I joke.
Landon laughs along. “Barely; he probably installed a
hidden camera on your shirt to keep track of you.”
“Cameras aren’t my thing. I’m more of a tracking-device
type of guy.” Hardin’s voice makes me jump, and I look over
to find him leaning in the doorway of the kitchen.
“Thanks for helping prove my point,” Landon says, but
Hardin chuckles, shaking his head. He seems to be in a better
mood, thank goodness.
“Where is this boat? I’m bored listening to you two talk shit
about me.”
“We weren’t, we were joking,” I tell him and walk over to
hug him where he’s standing.
“It’s fine, I do the same when you’re not around,” he says
in a mocking tone, although I can’t help but detect a hint of
seriousness behind the words.
chapter twenty-three
TESSA
Dock’s a little shaky, but sturdy enough. I need to get
someone out here to remodel it . . .” Ken muses as we follow
him out to the where the boat’s moored.
With their backyard leading directly to the water, the view
is incredible. The waves crash along the rocks lining the shore,
and instinctively I step behind Hardin.
“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly.
“Nothing. I’m just a little nervous.”
He turns around to face me, sliding both of his hands into
the back pockets of my jeans. “It’s only water, baby, it’ll be
okay.”
He smiles, but I can’t tell if he’s mocking me or being
sincere. It’s only when his lips brush my cheek that my doubt
disappears.
“I forgot you don’t like water.” He pulls me closer.
“I like water . . . in swimming pools.”
“And streams?” His eyes glitter with humor.
I smile at the memory. “Only one stream in particular.”
I was nervous that day, too. Hardin only convinced me to
get into the water by bribing me. He had promised to answer
one of my endless questions about him in exchange for me
getting into the water with him. Those days seem so distant—
so ancient, really—but the ongoing theme of secrecy still
litters our present.
Hardin takes my hand in his as we follow his family down
the dock to the incredibly intimidating vessel waiting at the
end. I don’t know much about boats, but I think this one may
be a giant-sized pontoon boat. I know it’s not a yacht, but it’s
bigger than any fishing boat I’ve ever seen.
“It’s so big,” I whisper to Hardin.
“Shh, don’t talk about my dick in front of my family,” he
teases.
I love this playful yet grumpy mood he’s in; his smile is
contagious. Then the dock creaks beneath my feet, and I
squeeze tight against Hardin in panic.
“Watch the step,” Ken calls back to us as he climbs onto the
ladder connecting the boat and the dock.
Hardin’s hand moves to my back as he helps me up the
ladder. I try to force myself to imagine that it’s just a small
ladder at a playground, not something attached to an enormous
boat. The reassurance that comes with Hardin’s touch is the
only thing keeping me from running back up the shaky dock,
into the cabin, and hiding under the bed.
Ken helps us each onto the deck, and once there, I can see
how nice the boat is, decorated in white wood and caramel
leather. The seating area is large, big enough for all of us and
then some to sit comfortably.
When he tries to help Hardin aboard, his son waves him
off. When he’s fully on the deck, he looks around and says
plainly, “It’s nice to see that your boat is nicer than Mum’s
house.”
Ken’s proud smile fades.
“Hardin,” I whisper, tugging at his hand.
“Sorry,” he huffs.
Ken sighs but seems to accept his son’s apology before
walking over to the other side of the boat.
“You okay?” Hardin leans into me.
“Yeah, just be nice, please. I’m already nauseous.”
“I’ll be nice. I already apologized.” He takes a seat on one
of the lounges, and I join him.
Landon takes the grocery bag and leans down to unpack
cans of soda and bags of snacks. I gaze across the expanse of
the boat and out onto the water. It’s beautiful, and the sun is
dancing across the surface.
“I love you,” Hardin’s says softly into my ear.
The boat’s engine comes to life with a light hum, and I
scoot closer to Hardin. “I love you,” I say back, still looking
out onto the water.
“If we get out far enough we may see a few dolphins, or if
we’re lucky, a whale!” Ken says loudly.
“A whale would surely knock this boat over in no time
flat,” Hardin remarks, and I gulp at the thought. “Shit, sorry,”
he apologizes.
The farther and farther we get from the shore, the calmer I
become. It’s odd: I thought it would be the opposite, but
there’s a certain serenity that comes with being so
disconnected from the land.
“Do you see dolphins a lot out here?” I ask Karen as she
sips on her soda.
She smiles. “No, only once. But we still try!”
“I can’t believe the weather today, it feels like June,”
Landon remarks, pulling his T-shirt over his head.
“Are you working on your tan?” I ask him, taking in his
pale torso.
“Or your ghost impression?” Hardin adds.
Landon rolls his eyes but otherwise ignores the remark.
“Yep, even though I won’t need a tan in the city.”
“If the water wasn’t ice cold, we could all go for a swim
closer to shore,” Karen says.
“Maybe in the summer,” I remind her, and she nods
happily.
“At least we still have the Jacuzzi back at the cabin,” Ken
says.
Enjoying the moment, I look up at Hardin, but he stays
quiet, staring off into the distance.
“Look! There!” Ken points behind us.
Hardin and I both turn quickly, and it takes me a moment to
see what he’s spotted. It’s a pod of dolphins leaping through
the water. They aren’t close to the boat, but they’re close
enough that we can see the way they move in sync through the
waves.
“It’s our lucky day!” Karen laughs.
The wind blows my hair across my face, blocking my view
for a moment, and Hardin’s hand reaches up to tuck it back
behind my ear. It’s always the simple things he does, the small
ways he finds to touch me without thought, that make my
stomach flutter.
“That was so neat,” I say to him once the dolphins have
fully passed by.
“Yeah, it was, actually,” he says, sounding surprised.
AFTER TWO HOURS of conversation about boating, the
beautiful summers along this spot of coastline, sports, and an
awkward mention of Seattle that Hardin halted almost as soon
as it began, Ken leads us back to the shore.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Hardin and I ask each other at
the same time.
“Guess not.” He laughs, helping me down the ladder to the
dock.
The sun has marked his cheeks and the bridge of his nose,
and his hair is unruly and blown out from the wind. He’s so
lovely, it hurts.
We all walk across the backyard, and all I can think about is
how much I want to hold on to that peaceful sensation of being
out on the water.
As we enter the cabin, Karen announces, “I’ll make us all
lunch—I’m sure everyone is hungry,” and disappears into the
kitchen.
The rest of us stand there silent and content as she walks
off.
Finally, Hardin asks his father, “What else is there to do
here?”
“Well, there’s a nice restaurant further in town—we were
planning for all of us to have dinner there tomorrow. There’s
an old-fashioned movie theater, a library—”
“So, a bunch of lame shit, then?” Hardin says, his words
harsh but his tone playful.
“It’s a nice place, you should give it a chance,” Ken says,
not in the least bit offended.
The four of us head into the kitchen and stand around while
Karen puts together a platter of sandwiches and fruit. Hardin,
who is being overly affectionate today, rests his hand on my
hip.
Maybe this place is good for him.
AFTER LUNCH, I help Karen clean the kitchen and make
lemonade while Landon and Hardin discuss how terrible
modern literature is. I can’t help but laugh when Landon
mentions Harry Potter. This sends Hardin into a five-minute-
long speech on why he never has read and never will read the
books, and Landon tries desperately to get him to change his
mind.
After the lemonade is finished and greedily drunk down,
Ken says to us all, “Karen and I are going to head down to our
friend’s cabin a few doors down for an hour or two, if you all
want to come.”
Hardin looks over at me from across the room, and I wait
for him to answer. “I’ll pass,” he finally says, still looking at
me.
Landon looks back and forth between Hardin and me. “I’ll
come,” he says plainly, but I swear I catch him smirk at Hardin
before he stands up to join Ken and his mom.
chapter twenty-four
HARDIN
I am thinking they will never leave, but as soon as they do, I
pull her over to the couch with me.
“You didn’t want to go?” she asks.
“Fuck, no—why the hell would I want to go? I’d much
rather stay here with you. Alone,” I say and brush the hair
back from her neck. She squirms a little from the light shiver
my touch spreads across her skin. “Did you want to go sit and
listen to a roomful of boring-ass people talk about boring-ass
shit?” I ask her, my lips barely grazing her jaw.
“No.” Her breathing has already changed.
“You’re sure?” I tease and run my nose along her neck,
nudging her to tilt her head.
“I don’t know, it may have been more fun than this,” she
says.
I chuckle into her neck, kissing her where the goose bumps
on her skin appear from my breath. “Not fucking likely. We do
have a hot tub in our room, remember?”
“Yeah, but it’s no good, because I don’t have a
swimsuit . . .” she starts.
I suck lightly at her neck and imagine what she’d look like
in a bathing suit.
Fuck.
“You don’t need one,” I whisper.
She moves her head back and looks at me like I’m crazy.
“Yes, I do! I’m not getting in a hot tub with no clothes on.”
“Why not?” It sounds like a pretty fun time to me.
“Because your family is here.”
“I don’t know why you always use that as an excuse . . .”
My hand travels down to her lap, and I press against the seam
of her jeans. “Sometimes I think you may like that.”
“Like what?” she asks, practically fucking panting.
“The possibility of being caught.”
“Why would anyone like that?”
“A lot of people do—the thrill of being caught, you know?”
I apply more pressure between her legs, and she tries to clamp
them shut, struggling against what she wants and what she
thinks she shouldn’t want.
“No, that’s . . . I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” she lies.
I’m pretty damn sure she does.
“Mm-hmm . . .”
“I don’t!” she cries, defending herself, her cheeks flushed
and eyes wide in embarrassment.
“Tess, it’s okay that you do. It’s pretty fucking hot, really,”
I assure her.
“I don’t.”
Sure, Tessa. “Okay, you don’t.” I raise my hands in defeat,
and she whimpers a little from the loss of contact. I knew there
was no way in hell she’d admit it, but hey, it was worth a try.
“Are you going to come into the Jacuzzi with me?” I ask
and remove my hand from her.
“I’ll come up there . . . but I’m not getting in.”
“Suit yourself.” I smile and stand up. I know she’ll end up
in there; she’ll just need more persuading than most girls.
Come to think of it, I’ve never actually been in a Jacuzzi with
a female before, naked or not.
Wrapping her small hand around my wrist, she follows me
upstairs to the room that is considered ours for the next few
days. The balcony connected to it is what made me claim it in
the first place. The moment I saw that Jacuzzi sitting there, I
had to get her into it.
The bed isn’t bad either; it’s small, but we don’t need a big
bed with the way we sleep any damn way.
“I really do love it here; it’s so peaceful,” she says and sits
on the bed to take her shoes off.
I open the double doors to the balcony. “It’s okay.” If my
father, his wife, and Landon weren’t here, it would sure as hell
be better.
“I don’t have anything to wear tomorrow to that restaurant
your father was talking about.”
I shrug and lean down to turn the faucet on the Jacuzzi.
“We won’t go, then.”
“I want to go. I just didn’t know we were going out
somewhere before I packed.”
“It’s poor planning on their fault, then,” I say and study the
gauges to make sure they look like they’re working. “We’ll
just wear jeans. Seems like a casual area.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, if you don’t want to wear jeans, we can find a store
in this dump to get you something else,” I offer, and she
smiles.
“Why are you in such a good mood?” Tessa raises an
eyebrow at me.
I dip a finger into the water. Almost there; this thing heats
up quickly. “I don’t know . . . I just am.”
“Okay . . . should I be worried?” she asks, stepping out to
join me on the balcony.
“No.” Yes. I gesture to the wicker chair next to the hot tub.
“Will you at least sit out here with me while I enjoy the
relaxation that is sitting in scalding-hot water?”
She laughs and nods, taking a seat. I watch her innocent
eyes as she stares at me while I pull my shirt over my head and
take my pants off. I leave my boxers on; I want her to take
them off.
“You sure you don’t want to come in?” I ask her, and lift
my leg over the edge and climb in. Fuck, it’s hot as hell. A few
seconds later the burn disappears, and I lean back against the
hard plastic.
“I’m sure,” she says and looks out at the woods
surrounding us.
“No one can see us. You really think I’d ask you to come in
here naked if someone could?” I ask. “I mean, me with my
‘jealousy’ issues and whatnot.”
“What if they come back?” she asks quietly, as if someone
can hear her.
“They said an hour or two.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“I thought you were learning to live a little?” I tease my
beautiful girl.
“I am.”
“You’re sitting there pouting in a chair while I’m enjoying
the view,” I point out.
“I’m not pouting,” she says, and pouts more.
I smirk at her, knowing it will irritate her further. “Okay,” I
say, closing my eyes as she purses her lips. “I sure am lonely
in here. I may have to take care of myself.”
“I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Déjà vu,” I remark, thinking about our experience at the
stream for the second time today.
“I—”
“Just get in the damn water,” I say, without opening my
eyes or changing my tone. I speak to her like it’s inevitable,
because we both know it is.
“Fine, I am!” she says, trying to convince herself she’s
exasperated and doesn’t really want this as much as she does.
That wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. When I open
my eyes, I nearly choke. She’s lifting her shirt over her head,
and of course she’s wearing that damn red bra.
“Take the bra off,” I say.
She looks around again, and I shake my head. The only
thing she can see from this balcony is the water and trees.
“Take it off, baby,” I coax, and she nods, sliding the straps
down her arms.
I’ll never get enough of her. No matter how many times I
touch her, fuck her, kiss her, hold her . . . it will never be
enough, I’ll always want more. It’s not even about the sex,
which we have often; it’s that I’m the only one who’s ever
been with her, and she trusts me enough to get naked on a
fucking balcony.
So why then am I such a fuckup? I don’t want to fuck this
up with this girl.
Her jeans join her T-shirt and bra on the chair—folded
perfectly, of course.
“Panties, too,” I remind her.
“No, yours are on,” she fires back and steps into the water.
“Ouch!” she squeaks, pulling her foot back before easing in.
Once she’s all the way in, she sighs, her body having gotten
used to the water.
“Come here.” I reach for her and pull her onto my lap.
I suppose the uncomfortable plastic seats can be useful after
all. The way her body feels against me, in combination with
the pulsing jets, makes me want to rip those panties right off.
“It could be like this in Seattle, all the time,” she says, and
her arms wrap around my neck.
“Like what?” The last thing I want to do is talk about
fucking Seattle. If I could find a way to wipe that damn city
off the map, I would.
“Like this.” She gestures between us. “Just us, no problems
with your friends, like Molly, no bad history. Just you and me
in a new city. We could start all over, Hardin, together.”
“It’s not that simple,” I tell her.
“Yes, it is; no more Zed.”
“I thought you were going to come in here and fuck me, not
talk about Zed,” I tease, and she tenses.
“Sorry, I . . .”
“Calm down, I’m joking. Well, about the Zed thing.” I shift
her body on mine so she’s straddling my lap, her bare chest
flush against mine. “You’re everything to me; you know that,
don’t you?” I repeat the question I’ve had to ask her so many
times.
She doesn’t answer this time. Instead she rests her elbows
on my shoulders, threads her fingers through my hair, and
kisses me.
She’s hungry. Just like I knew she’d be.
chapter twenty-five
HARDIN
I attempt to pull her nearly naked body even closer to me as
she deepens the kiss. Her hands grip my arms, and I guide my
hand down between her thighs.
No point in wasting any time here.
“Should have taken these off,” I tell her, tugging at the side
of her thin, soaked panties.
She lets out a breathless laugh before sucking in a sharp
breath when my fingers enter her. Her moans are cut off by my
mouth against hers. She pulls my bottom lip between hers, and
I nearly lose it. She’s so fucking sexy and seductive, and she
doesn’t even fucking try.
When she begins to rock her hips, pushing herself onto my
hand, I grip her waist, move her from my lap, and place her
next to me, her legs spread wide, my fingers still pleasing her.
These fucking panties are getting on my nerves.
She startles, then pouts when I remove my fingers from her
and hook them around her panties, tugging them down as
quickly as possible and leaving her to kick them off the end of
one foot into the water beside her. I watch for a second as the
jets carry them to the other side of the tub; there’s something
mesmerizing about seeing that final barrier float away so
smoothly.
But quickly, Tessa grabs my wrist to force me to touch her
again.
“What do you want?” I urge, wanting to hear the words
from her.
“You.” She smiles sweetly, then spreads her legs further,
showing how dirty she really is.
“Turn around, then,” I tell her.
Without giving her a chance to respond, I turn her body
around, and she lets out a yelp. I panic for a moment, but then
realize that her little pussy is directly lined up with the jets. Of
course, she’s moaning. She’ll be fucking screaming in a
minute.
I kneel behind her—I love taking her this way. I can feel so
much more of her, I can touch the creamy skin on her back and
pay attention to every muscle moving under her skin—and I
watch every breath she fights for as I rock into her.
I move her long hair to the side and move closer, slowly
pushing farther into her. Her back arches into me, and I take
her breasts in my hands as I begin to move in and out of her
slowly.
Fuck, it feels so damn good, better than ever. It has to be
the hot water pushing around us as I inch in and out of her. She
moans, and I reach down to make sure she’s still being hit with
the rushing water. Her eyes are screwed shut, and her mouth is
wide open. Her knuckles are nearly white from gripping the
edge of the tub.
I want to move faster, to pound into her, but I force myself
to stay at this slow, torturing pace.
“Har-dinnn,” she moans.
“Fuck, it’s like I can finally feel every inch of you.” The
moment I say the words, I panic and pull away from her.
A condom.
I didn’t even think to use a fucking condom. What has she
done to me?
“What’s wrong?” she pants, a thin layer of moisture
covering her face.
“I don’t have a condom on!” I run my hands over my wet
hair.
“Oh,” she says calmly.
“Oh? What do you mean, Oh?”
“So put a condom on?” she suggests with a doe-eyed look.
“That’s not the point!” I stand up in the tub. She doesn’t say
anything. “If I hadn’t thought about it, you could have gotten
pregnant.”
She nods understandingly. “Okay, yeah, but you did
remember.”
Why is she so calm about this? She has this grand plan to
move to Seattle—a baby would definitely fuck that up.
Wait . . .
“Is that your plan or something? If I get you pregnant, you
think I’ll go with you?” I sound like a fucking conspiracy
theorist, but it does make sense.
She turns around, laughing. “You aren’t serious!” And
when she tries to wrap her arms around me, I move out of the
way.
“I am.”
“Come on, that’s insane. Come here, babe.” She tries to
grab me again, but I dodge her, moving to the opposite side of
the Jacuzzi.
Hurt flashes as clear as a goddamn neon sign across her
face, and she covers her boobs with her hands. “You’re the one
who forgot about a condom, and now you’re saying that I’m
trying to trap you by getting pregnant?” She shakes her head in
disbelief. “Just listen to yourself.”
Well, it wouldn’t be the first time some crazy chick did that.
I slide over to get a little closer now, but she quickly rises onto
her knees on the bench. I give her an impassive look, saying
nothing.
Watching me, her eyes brim with tears as she stands up in
the water and climbs out of the tub. “I’m going to take a
shower.” She disappears into the bedroom, slamming first the
door to the deck and then the bathroom as she goes.
“Fuck!” I yell, smacking a palm at the bubbling water,
wishing it could hit me back. I do need to listen to what I’m
saying—this isn’t some random crazy bitch. This is Tessa.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m so fucking paranoid. My
guilt over this Seattle shit is causing me to lose my fucking
mind. What’s left of it, anyway.
I have to fix this, or at least try to. I owe it to her, especially
after I just accused her of the dumbest shit possible.
Ironically, in a twisted way, I almost wish I hadn’t
remembered the condom myself . . .
No. No, I don’t. I just don’t want her to leave me, and I
don’t know what else to do to get her to stay. A baby isn’t the
answer, that’s for damn sure. I’ve done everything I possibly
can except lock her in the apartment. Sure, it’s an idea that’s
actually crossed my mind a few times, but I don’t think she
would like it too much. Plus she’d probably get a vitamin-D
deficiency. And stop going to yoga . . . and so stop wearing
those pants.
I need to go inside and apologize for embarrassing her and
being a dick to her before the entire gang returns. Maybe I’ll
get lucky, and they’ll get lost in the woods for a few hours.
But first, I have something else I need to do. I climb out of
the hot tub and walk into the room; it’s cold as hell now that
I’m only wearing soaked boxers. I glance back and forth
between my phone and the bathroom door connected to our
room. The shower’s still running, so I grab my phone and a
blanket from the back of the chair before stepping back out
onto the balcony.
I scroll through my contacts and find the name Samuel; real
fucking clever decoy, there. I don’t know why I saved this
woman’s number anyway; I guess I knew somehow I’d get
tangled in a fucking web and have to call the bitch back. I
changed the name in case Tessa went snooping through my
shit, which I knew she would do. I thought she’d caught me
when she asked about my deleted history and heard me yelling
at Molly on the phone.
In some ways, I’m sure she’d rather see Molly on my call
log than this person.
chapter twenty-six
TESSA
I can’t believe Hardin had the nerve to accuse me of trying to
get myself pregnant, or even thinking that there’s even a small
chance that I would do something like that to him . . . or to
myself. The whole thing’s just absurd and stupid all around.
Everything was going so great—incredible, really—until he
mentioned the condom. He should have just gotten out of the
water and grabbed one; I know he has a pile of them in the top
of his suitcase. I watched him shove them in there after I
neatly packed our bags.
He’s probably just frustrated over this whole Seattle mess,
so he overreacted, and maybe I did, too. As a result of my
annoyance with Hardin’s rude comments and his ruining
our . . . moment in the hot tub, I need a hot shower. Seconds
later the water begins to work against my strained muscles,
relaxing my nerves and clearing my head. We both
overreacted, him more than me, and the argument was so
unnecessary. I reach for the shampoo. And then realize I was
so rattled while getting away from him that I forgot to grab my
toiletry bag. Great.
“Hardin?” I call. I doubt he can hear me over the shower
and hot tub, but I pull the floral shower curtain back and watch
for him just in case. When he doesn’t appear in the doorway
after a few seconds, I grab my towel and wrap it around my
body. Trailing water into the bedroom, I reach the suitcases
lying on the bed, when I hear Hardin’s voice.
I can’t quite hear what he’s saying, but I catch his tone of
false niceness, which tells me he’s trying to be polite and not
show his frustration. Which tells me that this conversation is
something he deems important enough to not act like himself.
I pad quietly across the wooden floor, and since he’s on
speaker, I hear someone say, “Because I’m a Realtor, and my
job is to fill empty apartments.”
Hardin sighs. “Well, do you have any more empty
apartments to fill?” he asks.
Wait, Hardin’s trying to get me an apartment? I’m as
shocked as I am excited at the thought. He’s finally coming
around to the idea of Seattle, and he’s actually trying to help
me instead of push against me. For once.
The woman on the other end, who, I realize, has a very
familiar voice, replies, “You gave me the impression that your
friend Tessa was not someone I should be wasting my time
giving an apartment to.”
What? Wait . . . is that . . . ?
He wouldn’t.
“Here’s the thing . . . she isn’t as bad as I made her out to
be. She hasn’t actually trashed any apartments or left without
paying,” he says, and my stomach turns.
He did.
I burst through the doors to the deck. “You sick, selfish
bastard!” I scream, the first words that come to mind.
Hardin spins to me, face paling, mouth opening wide. His
phone tumbles to the floor, and he just stares at me like I’m
some terrible creature who’s come to destroy him.
“Hello?” Sandra’s voice says through the speaker, and he
reaches down to grab his phone to silence her.
Anger courses through me. “How could you? How could
you do that?”
“I—” he begins.
“No! Don’t even waste my time with an excuse! What the
hell were you thinking?” I yell with one arm sweeping in his
direction violently.
I storm back into the bedroom, and he follows me,
pleading, “Tessa, listen to me.”
I turn around, feeling wounded, and strong, and hurt, and
enraged. “No! You listen to me, Hardin,” I say through my
teeth, trying to lower my voice. But I can’t. “I’m so sick of
this, I’m sick of you trying to sabotage everything in my life
that doesn’t revolve around you!” I scream, balling my fists
tightly at my sides.
“That’s not what I—”
“Shut up! Shut the hell up! You are the most selfish,
arrogant—you’re just . . . ugh!” I can’t think straight; angry
words fly from my mouth, my hands moving through the air in
front of me.
“I don’t know what I was thinking. I was trying to clear it
up just now.”
I shouldn’t be so surprised, really. I should have known that
Hardin was behind Sandra’s sudden disappearance. He doesn’t
know when to stop meddling in my life, my career, and I’m
sick of it.
“Exactly; this is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re
always doing something. You’re always hiding something.
You’re always finding new ways to try to control every single
thing I do, and I can’t take it anymore! This is too much.” I
can’t help but pace back and forth across the room, and Hardin
watches me with cautious eyes. “I can handle you being a little
overprotective, and I can handle you getting in a fight now and
then. Hell, I can even handle you being a complete asshole
half the time, because deep down I always knew you were
doing what you thought was best for me. But not this. You’re
trying to ruin my future—and I won’t fucking have it.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. And I know that he means it, but—
“You’re always fucking sorry! It’s always the same shit:
you do something, hide something, say something, I cry, you
say you’re sorry, and bam! All is forgiven.” I point a harsh
finger at him. “But not this time.”
I have the urge to slap Hardin right across his face, but I
look around for something to take my anger out on instead. I
grab a frilly pillow from the bed and throw it onto the floor.
Then I throw a second one. It doesn’t do much for the anger
flaming inside me, but I’d feel even worse if I destroyed
anything of Karen’s.
This is so exhausting. I don’t know how much more I can
take before I break.
Fuck that, I won’t break. I’m sick of breaking—that’s all I
ever do. I need to pick up my own pieces, put them back
together neatly, and hide them away from Hardin to keep them
from ending up in a pile at his feet again.
“I’m sick of the endless cycle. I’ve told you before, and you
don’t listen. You find new ways to continue the cycle, and I’m
done, I’m so fucking done!”
I don’t know if I’ve ever been this angry at him. Yes, he’s
done worse things, but I’ve always moved on from that. We
were never in a place like this before, a place where I thought
he was done hiding things from me, and I thought he
understood that he can’t mess with my career. This chance
means everything to me. I’ve spent my life watching what
happens to a woman who has nothing of her own. My mother
never had anything that she herself earned, anything that was
hers, and I need that. I need to do this. I need this chance to
prove that even though I’m young, I can make a life for myself
that my mother never could make for herself. I can’t let
anyone take this from me, the way my mother let it slip from
her.
“Done . . . with me?” His voice is shaky, and it cracks.
“You said you’re done . . .”
I don’t know what I’m done with. It should be him, but I
know myself better than to answer that right now. Normally I
would be crying by this point and forgiving him with a kiss . . .
but not tonight.
“I’m so fucking exhausted, and I can’t stand it. I can’t keep
doing this like this! You were going to let me move to Seattle
without anywhere to live just to try to force me not to go!”
Hardin stands before me in silence, and I take a deep
breath, expecting my anger to diminish, but it doesn’t. It grows
and grows until I am literally seeing red. I grab the rest of the
pillows, imagining that they’re actually glass vases that shatter
to the floor, leaving a mess for someone else to clean up. The
problem is that I would be the one doing the cleaning—he
wouldn’t take the chance of cutting himself in order to spare
me.
“Get out!” I scream at him.
“No, I’m sorry, okay, I—”
“Get the fuck out. Now,” I spit, and he looks at me like he
has no idea who I am.
Maybe he hasn’t.
He hunches over and leaves the room—and I slam the door
behind him before going back out to the balcony. I sit down on
the wicker chair and stare out at the sea, trying to calm myself
down.
No tears come, only memories. Memories and regrets.
chapter twenty-seven
HARDIN
I know she’s exhausted—I can see it on her face each time I
fuck up. The fight with Zed, the lie about the expulsion . . .
every infraction takes a toll on her; she thinks I don’t notice,
but I do.
Why did I have to put Sandra on speakerphone? If I hadn’t
done that, I could have cleaned this shit up and told her about
my fuckup after I fixed it. That way she couldn’t be as upset.
I wasn’t thinking about what Tessa would do when she
found out, and I sure as hell wasn’t thinking about where she’d
live if she didn’t change her mind about moving. I suppose I
thought that being the control freak that she is, she’d postpone
her trip if she didn’t have anywhere to stay.
Way to fucking go, Hardin.
I meant well—well, I didn’t at the time, but now I do. I
know it’s fucked up for me to mess with her apartment in
Seattle, but I’m grasping at straws here, trying to get her not to
leave me. I know what will happen in Seattle, and it’s not
going to end well.
True to my nature, I take a swing at the wall next to the
staircase.
“Fuck!”
True to my luck, I find out it’s not drywall. It’s real fucking
wood, and hurts so much worse. I cradle my fist with my other
hand and have to stop myself from repeating my idiotic
reaction. I’m lucky it didn’t break anything. Sure, it will
bruise, but what else is new.
I’m sick of the endless cycle. I’ve told you before and you
don’t listen. I stomp down the stairs and throw myself on the
couch like a temperamental child. That’s what I am really, a
fucking child. She knows it, I know it—hell, everyone fucking
knows it. I should just print the shit on a goddamn T-shirt.
I should just go up there and try to explain myself again,
but honestly, I’m a little scared. I’ve never seen her so mad
before.
I need to get the hell out of here. If Tessa hadn’t forced me
to ride with the entire fucking Partridge family, I could leave
now and end this stupid-ass trip early. I didn’t even want to
come in the first place.
I guess the boat was sort of okay . . . but the trip in general
is bullshit, and now that she’s mad at me, there’s literally no
point in me being here. I stare up at the ceiling, unsure what
I’m supposed to do now. I can’t just sit here, and I know if I
do, I’ll end up back upstairs pushing Tessa further.
I’ll take a walk. That’s what normal people do when they’re
angry, not punch walls and break shit.
I need to get some damn clothes on before I do anything,
but I can’t go back up there or she’ll murder me, literally.
I sigh as I get up. If I wasn’t so confused by Tessa’s
behavior, I’d care more about what I’m about to do.
The door to Landon’s room opens, and my eyes roll
immediately. His clothes are stacked neatly on the bed; he
must have been planning to dutifully put them away before his
mum and my dad dragged him along with them.
I sift through the hideous crap and desperately search for
something that doesn’t have a fucking collar. Finally, I find a
plain blue T-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants.
Fucking lovely. I’ve now resorted to sharing clothes with
Landon. I hope Tessa’s rage doesn’t last long, but for once I
don’t know what will happen next. I hadn’t expected her to
react half as bad as she did; it wasn’t really the words she used
toward me, it was the way she looked at me the whole time.
That look said more than she ever could and, in turn, scared
me more than her words alone ever could.
I glance at the door to what was our room up until twenty
minutes ago, then head back down the stairs and out the door.
I barely make it down the damn driveway before my
favorite stepbrother appears. At least he’s alone.
“Where’s my dad?” I ask him.
“Are you wearing my clothes?” he responds, clearly
confused.
“Um, yeah. I didn’t have a choice, don’t make a big deal of
it.” I shrug, knowing by the smile on his face he was planning
on doing just that.
“Okay . . . What did you do now?”
What the hell? “What makes you think I did something?”
His brow arches.
“Okay . . . so I did something, something really fucking
stupid,” I huff. “But I don’t want to hear your shit, so don’t
worry about it.”
“Fine.” He shrugs and begins to walk away from me.
I was hoping for a few words from him, he’s okay with
advice sometimes. “Wait!” I call and he turns around. “You’re
not going to ask me what it was?”
“You just said you don’t want to talk about it,” he replies.
“Yeah, but I . . . well.” I don’t know what to say, and he’s
looking at me like I’ve grown two heads.
“Do you want me to ask you?” He looks pleased, but
thankfully he’s not being too much of an asshole about it.
“I’m the reason . . .” I begin, but just then I see Karen and
my dad starting to walk up the driveway.
“The reason what?” Landon asks, looking back at them.
“Nothing, never mind.” I sigh, running my fingers through
my damp hair in frustration.
“Hey, Hardin! Where’s Tessa?” Karen asks.
Why does everyone always ask me that as if I can’t be more
than five feet away from her?
The building ache in my chest reminds me of just that: I
can’t.
“She’s inside, sleeping,” I lie and turn to Landon. “I’m
going for a walk, can you make sure she’s okay?” He nods.
“Where are you going?” my father’s voice calls as I walk
past them.
“Out,” I snap and walk faster.
BY THE TIME I reach a stop sign a few roads over, I realize I
have no fucking idea where I’m going or even how to get back
to where I came from. I just know I’ve been walking for a
while, and that all of these roads are deceptively windy.
I officially hate this place.
It didn’t seem so bad while I was watching Tessa’s hair
blow lightly in the wind, her eyes focused on the shining
water, her lips turned up in a small, satisfied smile. She looked
so relaxed, like the calm waves far from the shore, steady and
undisturbed until our boat intruded on their peace. Now behind
us, the water roars, whipping up onto the sides of our boat in
an angry way. Soon they’ll go back to their resting state, until
another boat comes along to disturb their ease.
A girl’s voice interrupts the image of Tessa’s sun-kissed
skin. “Are you lost or something?”
When I turn around, I’m surprised to find a girl, around my
age, I think. Her brown hair is as long as Tessa’s. She’s alone
out here at night. I look around us. There’s nothing, only an
empty gravel road and forest.
“Are you?” I reply, taking notice of her long skirt.
She smiles at me and walks closer. She must be lacking
brain cells to be out here in the middle of nowhere asking a
complete stranger that looks like me if he’s lost.
“No. I’m escaping,” she says, tucking her hair behind her
ear.
“You’re running away? At, like, age twenty?” She better
keep her ass moving down this street, then. The last thing I
need is some angry father looking for his overdressed teenage
daughter.
“No.” She laughs. “I’m home from college visiting my
parents, and they were boring me to death.”
“Oh, good for you. I hope your freedom trail finds you at
Shangri-la,” I reply and begin to walk away from her.
“You’re going the wrong way,” she calls out.
“Don’t care,” I say.
And then I groan when I hear her footsteps crunching
against the gravel behind me.
chapter twenty-eight
TESSA
I’m so exhausted, just plain tired of dealing with fight after
fight with Hardin. I’m not sure what to do now, where to go
from here. I’ve been following him down the path we’ve been
on for months now, and I’m not sure we’re actually going
anywhere. We’re both just as lost as we were at the start.
“Tessa?” Landon’s voice carries through the room and out
to the balcony.
“Out here,” I reply, thankful that I put on a pair of shorts
and a sweatshirt. Hardin always teases me when I do that, but
it’s comfortable at times like this, not too hot but not too cold.
“Hey,” he says, coming out and sitting in the chair next to
mine.
“Hey.” I glance over at him before staring back at the water.
“Are you okay?”
I take a moment to think over his question: Am I okay? No.
Will I be? Yes.
“Yeah, this time I think I am.” I bring my knees to my chest
and wrap my arms around them.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. I don’t want to ruin the trip with all my drama. I’m
fine, really.”
“Okay, just know if you want to talk, I’ll listen.”
“I know.” I look over at him, and he gives me a reassuring
smile. I don’t know what I’m going to do without him.
His eyes go wide, and he points over at something. “Are
those . . . ?”
I look over to where he’s staring.
“Oh God!” I jump from my seat and grab the red panties
that are floating in the hot tub and shove them into the front
pocket of my sweatshirt.
Landon bites down on his bottom lip to stifle his laugh, but
I can’t keep mine in. We both burst into laughter—his genuine,
mine out of humiliation. But I’ll take this laughter with
Landon over my usual postfight crying with Hardin any day.
chapter twenty-nine
HARDIN
I’m growing more and more sick of seeing nothing but gravel
and trees while roaming around this small town. The strange
girl is still following behind me, and my fight with Tess is still
weighing down on me.
“Are you going to follow me around this entire town?” I
ask the pestering girl.
“No, I’m going back to my parents’ cabin.”
“Well, go to their cabin alone.”
“You aren’t very polite,” she hums.
“Really?” I roll my eyes even though she can’t see my face.
“I’ve been told civility is one of my strongest attributes.”
“Someone lied to you,” she says and giggles behind me.
I kick at a rock, for once glad for Tessa’s cleanliness, since
if she hadn’t made me take my shoes off at the door of the
cabin, I’d be stuck wearing Landon’s sneakers. Not a good
look. Plus, I’m almost certain his feet are much smaller than
mine.
“So where are you from?” she asks.
I ignore her and continue on my trek. I think I’m supposed
to turn left at the next stop sign. I sure as hell hope so.
“England?”
“Yup,” I say. Then figure I might as well ask. “Which
way?”
I turn and see her point to the right. Of course, I was wrong.
Her eyes are an icy blue, and her skirt drags across the
gravel below her feet. She reminds me of Tessa . . . well, the
Tessa I was first introduced to. My Tessa no longer wears
hideous things like that. She has also learned a new
vocabulary; all credit for that goes to me for making her cuss
my ass out on a wide range of occasions.
“Are you here with your parents, too?” Her voice is low,
sweet even.
“No . . . Well, sort of.”
“They are sort of your parents?” She smiles; her use of
“they are” instead of the contraction “they’re” reminds me of
Tess, too.
I look over to the girl again to make sure she’s actually
there and this isn’t some freaky Christmas Carol–type shit
where she’s an apparition that has come to teach me some sort
of lesson.
“They’re my family, and my girlfriend. I have a girlfriend,
by the way,” I warn her. I don’t see this girl being interested in
someone like me, but then again I once thought the same about
Tessa.
“Okay . . .” she says,
“Okay.” I pick up my pace, wanting to create some space
between us. I turn right, and she does, too. Both of us move
onto the grass as a truck passes us by, and she catches up
again.
“Where is she, then? Your girlfriend?” she asks.
“Sleeping.” It makes sense to use the same lie I told my
father and Karen.
“Hmm . . .”
“Hmm, what?” I look at her.
“Nothing.” She stares forward.
“You’ve already followed me halfway back. If you have
something to say, then say it,” I say irritably.
She twists something in her hands, looking down. “I was
just thinking that you seem like you’re trying to escape from
something or hide . . . I don’t know, never mind.”
“I’m not hiding; she told me to get the fuck out, so I did.”
What the hell does this wannabe Tessa know anyway?
She looks up at me. “Why did she kick you out?”
“Are you always this nosy?”
She smiles. “Yeah, I am,” she says with a nod.
“I hate nosy people.”
Except Tessa, of course. No matter how much I love her,
sometimes I want to tape her mouth shut following one of her
interrogations. She’s literally the most intrusive human being
I’ve ever met.
I’m lying, really. I love her pestering behavior; I used to
hate it, but I get it now. I want to know all about her, too . . .
what she’s thinking, what she’s doing, what she wants. I
realize, to my fucking horror, that I ask more questions now
than she does.
“So, are you going to tell me?” the girl presses.
“What’s your name?” I ask her, avoiding her question.
“Lillian,” she says and drops whatever was in her hand.
“I’m Hardin.”
She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Tell me about your
girlfriend.”
“Why?”
“It seems like you’re upset, and who better to talk to than a
stranger?”
I don’t want to talk to her; she’s eerily similar to Tessa, and
it’s making me uneasy. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
The sun has disappeared early here, and the sky is nearly
black.
“And keeping it in is?” she asks sensibly. Too sensibly.
“Look, you seem . . . nice and all, but I don’t know you and
you don’t know me, so this conversation isn’t going to
happen.”
She frowns. Then sighs. “Fine.”
Finally, I can see the familiar sloped roof of my father’s
cabin in the distance. “Well, this is me,” I say by way of
dismissing myself.
“Really? Wait . . . your dad is Ken, isn’t he?” She slaps her
small hand against her forehead.
“Yeah?” I say, surprised.
We both stop walking at the end of the driveway. “I’m an
idiot, of course! With the accents, how did I not think of it
earlier.” She laughs.
“I don’t get it.” I look down at her.
“Your dad and my dad are friends, they went to college
together or something. I just spent the last hour listening to
them tell stories of their glory days.”
“Oh, that’s ironic.” I half smile. I don’t feel as
uncomfortable around the girl as I did a few minutes ago.
She smiles brightly. “So really we aren’t strangers after all.”
chapter thirty
TESSA
Cookies,” Landon and I answer in unison.
“Cookies it is, then.” Karen smiles and opens the cabinet.
Karen never stops, she’s always baking, roasting, toasting.
Not that I’m complaining; her cooking is incredible.
“It’s dark out now. I hope he doesn’t get lost out there,”
Ken says. Landon just shrugs like That’s Hardin.
Hardin has been gone for nearly three hours, and I’m trying
my best not to panic. I know he’s okay; if something were to
ever happen to him, I would know. I don’t know how to
explain it, but I know deep down that I would just know.
So something harming him is not what I’m worried about.
I’m worried that his frustration will just become an excuse to
find some local bar. As much as I wanted him to get away
from me, it would kill me to see him stumble through the door
and smell liquor on his breath. I just needed my space, time to
think and cool down. I haven’t gotten around to the thinking
part; I’ve been avoiding it at all costs.
“I was thinking we could all get in the Jacuzzi tonight or
maybe in the morning?” Karen suggests.
Landon spits his soda back into his cup, and I look away
quickly, biting the inside of my cheek. The memory of Landon
spotting my floating panties is much too fresh, and I can feel
the heat in my cheeks.
“Karen, honey, I don’t think they want to get in the Jacuzzi
with us.” Ken laughs and Karen smiles, realizing that it would
be a little awkward maybe.
“I guess you’re right.” She laughs and starts separating the
cookie dough into small balls. She scrunches her nose. “I hate
this premade stuff.”
I’m sure that for Karen, premade cookie dough is awful, but
for me, it’s heaven. Especially now, when I feel like I could
snap at any moment.
Landon and I were in the middle of a discussion about
Dakota and their soon-to-be apartment when his mother and
Ken finally checked in on us. They mentioned that they ran
into Hardin as he was leaving. Apparently he told them that I
was asleep, so I did my best to go along with his lie, saying
that I had only woken up when Landon came in.
I’ve been wondering where Hardin is and when he will
return since the moment he left. Part of me doesn’t want to see
him at all, but part of me, a much bigger part, needs to know
that he isn’t doing anything that will further jeopardize our
already fragile relationship. I’m still extremely angry at his
interfering with my move to Seattle, and I have no idea what
the hell I’m going to do about it.
chapter thirty-one
HARDIN
You sabotaged her getting an apartment?” Lillian asks, her
jaw falling open.
“I told you it was fucked up,” I remind her.
Another pair of headlights flashes by us as we walk to her
parents’ cabin. I had every intention of going back to my
father’s, but Lillian has proven herself to be a decent listener
so far. So when she asked me to walk her back to her cabin
and finish our discussion, I accepted. My absence will give
Tessa some time to cool down and hopefully be ready to talk
by the time I return.
“You didn’t tell me what level of messed up it was. I don’t
blame her for being mad at you,” the girl says, of course ready
to take Tessa’s side.
I can’t imagine what she’d think of me if she knew about
all the shit I’ve put Tessa through in the past six months.
“Well, what are you going to do about it?” she asks,
opening the front door to her parents’ cabin. She gestures for
me to come in, like it was a foregone conclusion that I would.
Once I step inside, I see it’s very extravagant. Even bigger
than my father’s. Fucking rich people.
“They should be upstairs,” she says as we walk inside.
“Who should be upstairs?” a woman’s voice questions, and
Lillian grimaces before turning around to the woman I assume
is her mum. She looks just like her, the only difference
between them being age. “Who’s this?” she asks.
Just then, a middle-aged man wearing a polo shirt and
khakis walks into the living room.
Great; fucking great. I should’ve just stuck to walking
Lillian home. I wonder how Tessa would feel if she knew I
was here. Would she mind? She’s pretty mad at me anyway,
and she has a history of being jealous of Molly. Still, this girl
isn’t Molly; she’s nothing like her.
“Mom, Dad, this is Hardin, Ken’s son.”
A huge grin appears on the man’s face. “I was wondering if
I’d get to meet you!” he exclaims with a posh British accent.
Well, that explains how he would know my father from
university.
He walks over and pats my shoulder. I take a step back,
causing him to frown slightly, although he also kind of seems
to have expected this reaction from me. My father must have
warned him about me. I almost laugh at the thought.
“Honey,” he says, turning to his wife. “This is Trish’s son.”
“You know my mum?” I ask him before also turning to his
wife.
“Yeah, I knew your mom back before she was your mom,”
the woman says with a smile. “We were all friends, the five of
us,” she adds.
“Five?” I ask.
Lillian’s dad looks at her. “Now, honey.”
“Anyway, you look just like her! Only you have your
father’s eyes. I haven’t seen her since I moved back to
America. How is she?” she asks.
“She’s good, she’s getting married soon.”
“Really?” she squeals. “Tell her congratulations from me,
that is just so great to hear.”
“Okay,” I respond. These people smile too damn much. It’s
like being in a room with three Karens, only much more
annoying and much less charming. “Well, I’m going to get
going,” I tell Lillian, figuring this has been awkward enough.
“No, no. You don’t have to go—we’ll go upstairs,” Lillian’s
father says, then wraps his arm around his wife’s waist and
leads her away.
Lillian watches them go, then looks up at me. “Sorry, they
are . . .”
“Fake?” I answer for her. I can sense the bullshit behind the
man’s bleached white smile.
“Yes, very.” She laughs and goes over and sits on the
couch.
I stand awkwardly by the door.
“Will your girlfriend mind if you’re here?” she asks me.
“I don’t know, probably.” I groan, running exasperated
fingers through my hair.
“Would you want her to do the same thing? How would
you feel if she was hanging out with a guy, one she just met?”
As soon as the words leave her lips, anger swells in my chest.
“I’d be seeing red,” I growl.
“Thought so.” She smirks and pats the couch next to her.
I take a deep breath and stride over to sit on the opposite
side of the couch from her. I’m not sure how to read her; she’s
rude as hell and a little annoying.
“You’re the jealous type, then?” she asks, eyes wide.
“I guess so.” I shrug.
“I bet your girlfriend wouldn’t like it much if you kissed
me.” She moves closer, and I jump up from the couch. I’m
halfway to the door before she begins to laugh.
“What the hell?” I try to keep my voice down.
“I was just messing with you. I’m not interested, trust me.”
She smiles. “And it’s a relief to know that you aren’t either.
Now sit.”
She may have a lot of the same traits as Tessa but she isn’t
as sweet . . . nor as innocent. I sit down on the chair across
from the couch. I don’t know this chick enough to trust her.
I’m only here because I don’t want to face what’s back at my
dad’s cabin. And Lillian, despite being a stranger, is a neutral
third party, unlike Landon, who happens to be Tessa’s best
friend. It’s sort of nice to have someone to talk to who doesn’t
have a reason to judge me. And hell, she’s a little nutty, so
she’s more likely to get where I’m coming from.
“Now tell me what is in Seattle that you aren’t willing to
face for her?”
“It’s not anything specific. I do have some bad history
there, but it’s more than that. It’s the fact that she’ll be
thriving,” I respond, knowing how fucking insane I sound. But
I don’t give a fuck; this girl stalked me for an hour, so if
anyone is insane, it’s her.
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“No. I want her to thrive, of course. I just want to be a part
of it.” I sigh, missing Tessa desperately even though it’s only
been a few hours. The fact that she’s so angry with me makes
me miss her even more.
“So you refuse to go to Seattle with her because you want
to be involved in her life? It doesn’t make sense,” she says,
stating the obvious.
“I know you don’t get it, she doesn’t either, but she’s the
only thing I have. Literally, she’s the only thing in my life that
I give a shit about, and I can’t lose her. I’d have nothing
without her.”
Why am I telling her this shit?
“I know I sound fucking pathetic.”
“No, you don’t.” She gives me a sympathetic smile, and I
look away. The last thing I want is sympathy.
The light on the staircase shuts off, and I look back at
Lillian. “Should I go?” I ask.
“No, I’m sure my father is ecstatic that I brought you
home,” she says, no sarcasm in her voice.
“Why is that?”
“Well, ever since I introduced them to Riley, he’s been
hoping we would break up.”
“He doesn’t like him or some shit?”
“Her.”
“What?”
“He doesn’t like her,” she says, and I almost smile at her.
I feel bad for her father not accepting her relationship, but I
have to admit I’m extremely relieved.
chapter thirty-two
TESSA
Landon’s been explaining that since their apartment is so
close to campus, they can walk there easily every day. No need
to drive, and he won’t even have to take the subway on a daily
basis.
“Well, I’m just glad you won’t be driving in that massive
city. Thank goodness,” Karen says, putting her hand on her
son’s shoulder.
He shakes his head. “I’m a fine driver, better than Tessa,”
he teases.
“I’m not that bad, better than Hardin,” I remark.
“There’s something to brag about,” Landon says playfully.
“And it’s not your driving I’m worried about. It’s those
insane taxis!” Karen says, like a mother hen.
I grab a cookie off the plate on the counter and look at the
front door again. I’ve been watching it, waiting for Hardin to
return. My anger has been slowly shifting to concern as the
minutes tick by.
“Okay, thanks for letting me know. I’ll see you tomorrow,”
Ken says into his phone as he joins us in the kitchen.
“Who was that?”
“Max. Hardin’s at their cabin with Lillian,” he says, and my
stomach drops.
“Lillian?” I can’t stop myself from asking.
“Max’s daughter; she’s about your age.”
Why would Hardin be at the neighbors’ cabin with their
daughter? Does he know her? Has he dated her?
“He’ll be back soon, I’m sure.” Ken frowns, and when he
looks at me, I get the feeling he hadn’t considered my reaction
to this information before he said it. That he seems
uncomfortable makes me even more uncomfortable.
“Yeah,” I choke, standing from the stool at the counter.
“I’m just . . . I’m going to go to bed,” I tell them, trying to
hold myself together. I can feel my anger resurfacing, and I
need to get away from them before it boils over.
“I’ll come up with you,” Landon offers.
“No, I’m okay, really. I had an early morning, we all did,
and it’s getting late,” I assure him, and he nods even though I
can tell he isn’t buying it.
As I reach the stairs I hear him say, “He’s a damn idiot.”
Yes, Landon. Yes, he is.
I CLOSE THE BALCONY DOORS before walking over to
the dresser to change into my pajamas. With my mind racing,
I’m finding it difficult to focus on clothing. Nothing appeals as
a substitute for Hardin’s worn clothing, and I refuse to wear
the white T-shirt resting on the arm of the chair. I need to be
able to sleep in my own damn clothes. I give up after
rummaging through the drawer and decide to settle for the
shorts and sweatshirt that I have on, and lie down on the bed.
Who is this mystery girl that Hardin’s with? Ironically, I’m
more upset about my apartment in Seattle than I am about her.
If he wants to jeopardize our relationship by cheating, that’s
his choice. Yes, it would tear what’s left of me into pieces, and
I don’t think I would ever recover, but I’m not going to focus
on it.
For the life of me I can’t picture it. I can’t picture him
actually cheating on me. Despite all of the things he’s done in
the past, I just don’t see it. Not after his letter, not after his
pleading for my forgiveness. Yes, he’s controlling, too
controlling, and he doesn’t know when to stop interfering with
my life, but the intentions behind his actions are more about
keeping me near him than trying to escape, like cheating
would be.
Even after I’ve spent an hour staring at the ceiling and
counting the beams of stained wood lining the sloped surface,
the throb of resentment toward Hardin hasn’t let up.
I don’t know if I’m ready to talk to him just yet, but I know
I won’t be able to sleep until I hear him return. The longer he’s
gone, the stronger the twist of jealousy grows in my chest. I
can’t help but notice the double standard here. If I was out
with a guy, Hardin would lose it and probably try to burn
down the woods surrounding the place. I want to laugh at the
ridiculous thought, but I just don’t have it in me. Instead I
close my eyes again, begging sleep to come.
chapter thirty-three
HARDIN
Do you want a drink?” Lillian asks.
“Sure.” I shrug and glance at the clock.
She gets up and goes over to a silver bar cart. Looking at
the bottles it contains, she selects one and shows it to me
quickly, like she’s Vanna White or something. Pulling the top
off of a bottle of brandy that I’m sure cost more than the
massive television hanging on the wall, she looks back at me
with mock sympathy. “You can’t be a coward forever, you
know.”
“Shut up.”
“You’re so much like her.” She giggles.
“Like Tessa? No, I’m not. And how would you know?”
“No, not Tessa. Riley.”
“How’s that?”
Lillian pours the dark liquor into a curved glass and places
it in my hand before sitting back down on the couch.
“Where’s your drink?” I ask.
She gives a regal shake of the head. “I don’t drink.”
Of course she doesn’t. I really shouldn’t be drinking, but
the slightly sweet, intense aroma of the brandy pushes the
nagging reminder away.
“Are you going to tell me how I’m like her or not?” I look
at her expectantly.
“You just are; she has that brooding, angry-at-the-world
thing going on, too.” She makes an exaggerated emo face and
crosses her legs under her.
“Well, maybe she has something to be angry about,” I say,
defending her girlfriend without even knowing her, then gulp
down half the glass of liquor. It’s strong, aged to perfection,
and I can feel the burn down to the soles of my boots.
Lillian doesn’t reply. Instead she purses her lips and stares
at the wall behind me, deep in thought.
“I’m not into this whole Dr. Phil, you-talk-I-talk,
‘Kumbaya’ shit,” I tell her, and she nods.
“I’m not expecting ‘Kumbaya,’ but I think you should at
least come up with a plan to apologize to Tamara.”
“Her name is Tessa,” I snap, annoyed suddenly by her small
mistake.
She smiles and pulls her brown hair to one shoulder.
“Tessa, sorry. I have a cousin named Tamara, and it was in my
head, I guess.”
“What makes you assume I’ll be apologizing, anyway?” I
click my tongue against the roof of my mouth while waiting
for her response.
“You’re kidding, right? You owe her an apology!” she says
loudly. “You need to at least tell her you’ll go to Seattle with
her.”
I groan. “I’m not going to Seattle, for fuck’s sake.” What is
it with Tessa and fucking Tessa Number Two and pestering me
over Seattle?
“Well, then I hope she goes without you,” she says curtly.
I look at her, this girl who I thought might understand.
“What did you say?” I put the brandy glass down on the table
quickly, sloshing brown liquid onto its white surface.
Lillian arches one brow. “I said I hope she does go, because
you tried to mess up her apartment deal and still aren’t willing
to move with her.”
“Good thing I don’t give a fuck what you think.” I stand to
leave. I know she’s right, but I’m over this bullshit.
“Yes, you do, you just won’t admit it. I have come to learn
that the people who pretend to care the least actually care the
most.”
I pick the glass back up and finish it off before heading
toward the door. “You don’t know shit about me,” I say
through my teeth.
Lillian gets up and pads over to me casually. “Yes, I do.
Like I said, you’re just like Riley.”
“Well, I feel sorry for her because she has to put up . . .” I
begin to lash out at the girl but stop myself. She hasn’t done
anything wrong; she’s actually been trying to help me and
doesn’t deserve my anger.
I sigh. “Sorry, okay?” I walk back into the living room,
plopping myself back onto the couch.
“See, apologizing isn’t so hard, is it?” Lillian smiles and
goes over to the silver bar, bringing the brandy over to where I
sit.
“You obviously need another drink.” She smiles and grabs
my empty glass.
AFTER MY THIRD GLASS, I mumble, “Tessa hates when I
drink.”
“Are you a mean drunk?”
“No,” I say reflexively. But seeing that she’s really
interested, I ponder the question some more and reconsider.
“Sometimes.”
“Hmm . . .”
“Why don’t you drink?” I ask.
“I don’t know, I just don’t.”
“Does your boyf . . .” I begin but correct myself, “girlfriend
drink?”
She nods. “Yes, sometimes. Not as much as before.”
“Oh.” This Riley and I may have more in common than I
thought.
“Lillian?” her father calls out, and then I hear the staircase
creak.
I sit up and move away from her out of instinct, and she
turns her attention to him. “Yes, Father?”
“It’s nearly one in the morning. I think it’s time your
company heads out,” he says.
One in the morning? Holy shit.
“Okay.” She nods and looks back to me. “He seems to
forget I’m an adult,” she whispers, annoyance clear in her
voice.
“I need to go anyway. Tessa’s going to kill me,” I gripe.
When I stand, my legs aren’t as steady under me as they
should be.
“You’re welcome to come back tomorrow, Hardin,” my
father’s friend says as I reach the door.
“Just apologize and consider Seattle,” Lillian reminds me.
But I’m determined to ignore her, and I walk out the door,
down the steps, and onto the paved driveway. I would really
love to know what her dad does for a living; he’s obviously
rich as fuck.
It’s pitch-black out here. Literally, I can barely see my hand
as I wave it idiotically in front of my face. When I reach the
end of the driveway, the lights outside my father’s cabin come
into view, and they guide me to to his driveway and up the
porch steps.
The screen door creaks when I open it, and I curse at it. The
last thing I need is my father waking up and smelling the
brandy on my breath. Then again, he may want some himself.
My inner Tessa immediately scolds me for the cynical
thought, and I pinch the bridge of my nose, shaking my head
to get her out.
I nearly knock over a lamp trying to pull my boots off of
my feet. I grip the corner of the wall to steady myself and
finally manage to place my boots next to Tessa’s shoes. My
palms begin to sweat as I take the staircase as slowly as
possible. I’m not drunk, but I am quite buzzed, and I know
she’s going to be even more upset than she was before. She
was downright cheesed the fuck off earlier, and now that I’ve
stayed out this long—and have been drinking—she’s going to
lose it. I’m actually a little . . . afraid of her right now. She was
so mad earlier, cursing at me and ordering me away.
The door to the room we’re sharing opens with a small
squeak, and I try to be as quiet as possible and guide myself
through the dark room without waking her.
No such luck.
The lamp on the nightstand switches on, and Tessa’s
impassive glare is focused on me.
“Sorry . . . I didn’t want to wake you,” I apologize.
A frown forms on her full lips. “I wasn’t asleep,” she states,
and my chest begins to tighten.
“I know it’s late, I’m sorry,” I say, my words running
together.
She squints. “Have you been drinking?”
Despite her expression, her eyes are bright. The way the
soft light of the lamp hits her face makes me want to reach
across the bed and touch her.
“Yes,” I say and wait for the fury of my very own Lyssa.
She sighs and brings her hands to her forehead to brush the
loose tendrils that have escaped her ponytail. She doesn’t seem
to be alarmed or surprised by my state.
Thirty seconds later, I’m still waiting on the rage.
But nothing.
She’s just sitting there on the bed, leaning back on her
arms, staring at me with despondent eyes while I stand
awkwardly in the center of the room.
“Are you going to say anything?” I finally ask, hoping to
break this haunting silence.
“No, I’m not.”
“Huh?”
“I’m exhausted and you’re drunk; there’s really nothing for
me to say,” she says without emotion.
I’m always nervously anticipating her to finally snap, to
finally get to the point where she’s tired of putting up with my
shit, and honestly, I’m scared to fucking death that this may be
it.
“I’m not drunk, I only had three drinks. You know that’s
not shit to me,” I say and sit on the edge of the bed. A chill
runs down my spine when she moves closer to the headboard
to get away from me.
“Where were you?” Her voice is soft.
“Next door.”
She continues to stare at me, expecting more information.
“I was with this girl Lillian, her dad went to college with
mine and we were talking, one thing led to another and—”
“Oh God.” Tessa’s eyes snap shut, and her hands move to
cover her ears as she pulls her knees up to her chest.
I reach across, taking both her wrists in one hand and gently
pushing them down to her lap. “No, no, not like that. Fuck. We
were talking about you,” I tell her, then wait for her normal
eye rolling and signs of disbelief at anything I tell her.
She opens her eyes and looks up. “What about me?”
“Just this Seattle shit.”
“You talked to her about Seattle, but you won’t talk to me?”
Tessa’s voice isn’t angry, just curious, and I’m really
fucking confused. It’s not like I wanted to talk to the girl, she
practically fucking forced me, but in a way I guess I’m sort of
glad she did.
“It’s not like that—you made me leave,” I remind the girl in
front of me with Tessa’s face but none of her normal attitude.
“And you were with her this entire time?” Her lip trembles,
and she presses her teeth into it.
“No, I went for a walk and ran into her.” I reach across to
move her unruly hair away from her cheek, and she doesn’t
pull away. Her skin is hot to my touch, and her cheeks look as
if they’re glowing in the muted light. She leans into my palm,
and her eyes flutter closed as I rub my thumb along her
cheekbone. “She’s a lot like you.”
This isn’t how I expected this to go. I expected World War
Fucking Tessa by now.
“You like her, then?” she asks, gray eyes opening slightly to
meet mine.
“Yeah, she’s okay.” I shrug, and she closes her eyes again.
I’m thrown off by her calm behavior, and that mixed with
the aged brandy makes for one confused Hardin.
“I’m tired,” she says and reaches up to remove my hand
from her cheek.
“You’re not mad?” I question. Something is nagging at the
back of my mind, but it just won’t surface. Fucking liquor.
“I’m just tired,” she answers and lies back against the
pillows.
Okay . . .
Warning bells . . . No, fucking tornado sirens go off in my
mind at the lack of emotion in her voice. There’s something
she’s not saying. And I want her to just say it.
But as she falls back asleep—or at least feigns it—and I
realize I have to choose to ignore the silent signals for tonight.
It’s late. If I push her too hard, she’ll make me leave again,
and I can’t have that. I can’t sleep without her, and I’m
thankful she’s even fucking letting me near her after the shit
with Sandra. I’m also thankful the liquor is making me so
drowsy that I won’t be up all night worrying about what’s
stewing inside of Tessa’s brain.
chapter thirty-four
TESSA
The morning light sweeps over the room as the sun rises in
the distance. My eyes move from the uncovered balcony doors
to my stomach, where Hardin’s arm is draped over my body.
His full lips are parted, soft purrs sounding from between
them. I don’t know whether I should shove him off the bed or
brush his brown hair back from his forehead and press my lips
against the reddened skin.
I’m angry, so damn angry at Hardin for everything that
happened last night. He had the audacity to return to the cabin
at one thirty in the morning, and just like I feared, his breath
was laced with liquor. Yet another strand in this tangled web.
Then there’s this girl, a girl like me, whom he spent hours
upon hours with. He said they were just talking—and it’s not
that I don’t believe that they were only talking. It’s the fact
that Hardin refuses to discuss Seattle or anything remotely
related to Seattle with me, but he seems to be able to talk to
her.
I don’t know what to think, and I’m sick of thinking all the
damn time. There’s always some problem to fix, some
argument to be gotten through. And I’m tired. Tired of all of it.
I love Hardin more than I can comprehend, but I don’t know
how much longer I can do this. I can’t worry about him
coming home drunk every time we have a problem. I wanted
to scream at him, throw a pillow at his face, and tell him how
big of a jerk he is, but I’m finally beginning to realize that you
can only fight with someone over the same thing so many
times before you’re burned out.
I don’t know what to do about him not coming to Seattle,
but I do know that lying here in this bed isn’t of any help to
me. I lift Hardin’s arm and wriggle out from under his weight,
gently placing his arm across the pillow next to him. He
groans in his slumber, but thankfully he only stirs and doesn’t
wake.
I grab my phone from the bedside table and quietly pad to
the balcony doors. They open with minimal noise, and I let out
a relieved sigh before closing them behind me. The air is much
cooler than yesterday; granted, it’s only seven in the morning.
Phone in hand, I begin to ponder my living situation in
Seattle, which at this point is nonexistent. My transfer to
Seattle is becoming more of a hassle than I ever anticipated,
and honestly, at times it seems more of a hassle than it’s worth.
I immediately scold myself for entertaining the thought. That’s
exactly what Hardin is trying to do—he’s trying to make it as
difficult for me to move as he possibly can, hoping that I’ll
give up on doing what I want to do and stay with him.
Well, that’s just not going to happen.
I open the browser on my phone and wait impatiently for
Google to load. I stare at the small screen, waiting for the
annoying circle to stop going round and round. Frustrated at
the slow response on my ancient phone, I tread back into the
bedroom and grab Hardin’s off of the chair, then go back out
to the balcony.
If he wakes up and finds me on his phone, he’ll be angry.
But I’m not going through his calls or texts. I’m only using his
internet.
Yeah, she’s okay. His words about this Lillian girl play
through my mind as I try to search for apartments in Seattle.
I shake my head, disposing of the memory and instead
admiring a luxury apartment that I wish I could afford. I scroll
to the next, a smaller one-bedroom in a duplex. I don’t feel
comfortable in a duplex; I like the idea of someone having to
go through a lobby to get to my door, especially since it
appears that I’ll be alone in Seattle. I swipe my finger across
the screen a few more times before finally finding a one-
bedroom in a midsize high-rise. It’s over my budget, but not
by much. If I have to go without being able to buy groceries
until I get settled in, I will.
I enter the phone number into my phone and continue to
browse through the listings. Impossible thoughts of searching
for an apartment alongside Hardin’s haunt me. The two of us
would be sitting on the bed, me cross-legged, Hardin with his
long legs stretched out in front of him and his back against the
headboard. I would show him apartment after apartment and
he’d roll his eyes and complain about the process of apartment
hunting, but I’d catch him smiling, with his eyes focused on
my lips. He’d tell me how cute I am when I’m flustered before
taking the laptop from me and assuring me he’d find the place
for us.
That would be too simple, though. Too easy. Everything in
my life was simple and easy until six months ago. My mother
helped me with my dorm, and I had everything sorted and in
order before I even arrived at Washington Central.
My mother . . . I can’t help but miss her. She has no idea
that I’ve reunited with my father. She’d be so angry if she
knew. I know she would.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m dialing her number.
“Hello?” she answers smoothly.
“Mother?”
“Who else would it be?”
I’m already regretting this phone call. “How are you?” I ask
quietly.
She sighs. “I’m good. I’ve been a little busy with
everything going on.” Pots and pans clank in the background.
“What’s going on?” Does she know about my father? I
quickly decide that if she doesn’t, now isn’t the time to tell her.
“Nothing specific, really. I’ve been working a lot of
overtime, and we got a new pastor—oh, and Ruth passed
away.”
“Ruth Porter?”
“Yes, I was going to call you,” she says, her cold voice
warming slightly.
Noah’s grandmother Ruth was one of the sweetest women
I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. She was always so kind,
and next to Karen, she made the best chocolate chip cookies
on the planet.
“How’s Noah doing?” I dare to ask. He was very close with
his grandmother, and I know this has to be hard for him. I
never had the chance to get close to any of my grandparents;
my father’s parents passed away before I was old enough to
remember, and my mother’s parents were not the type of
people to allow anyone to get close to them.
“He’s taking it pretty hard. You should call him, Tessa.”
“I . . .” I begin to tell her that I can’t call him, but I stop
myself. Why can’t I call him? I can and I will. “I will . . . I’ll
call him right now.”
“Really?” The surprise is evident in her voice. “Well, at
least wait until after nine,” she advises, and I can’t help but
smile at her tone. I know she’s smiling on the other end of the
line. “How is school going?”
“I’m leaving Monday for Seattle,” I confess, and I hear
something clatter to the ground.
“What?”
“I told you, remember?” I did, didn’t I?
“No, you didn’t. You mentioned that your company was
moving there, but you never told me that you were leaving for
certain.”
“I’m sorry, I’ve just been so busy with Seattle and Hardin.”
Her voice is incredibly controlled when she asks, “He’s
going with you?”
“I’m . . . I don’t know.” I sigh.
“Are you okay? You sound upset.”
“I’m okay,” I lie.
“I know we haven’t been on the best of terms lately, but I’m
still your mother, Tessa. You can talk to me if something is
going on in your life.”
“I’m fine, really; I’m just stressed over this move and
transferring to a new campus.”
“Oh, that? You’ll do great there—you’d excel at any
campus. You can excel anywhere,” she says with assurance.
“I know, but I’m already so used to this campus, and I got
to know a few of the professors and I have friends . . . a few
friends.” I don’t really have friends that I will miss terribly,
save Landon. And maybe Steph . . . but mostly only Landon.
“Tessa, this is what we’ve been working toward for years,
and look at you now—in such a short period of time you’ve
accomplished it. You should be proud of yourself.”
I’m surprised by her words, and my mind rushes to process
them. “Thank you,” I mutter.
“Tell me as soon as you move into your place in Seattle so I
can come visit, since you obviously won’t be coming home
anytime soon,” she says.
“I will.” I ignore her harsh tone.
“I’ll have to call you back. I have to get ready for work.
Make sure you don’t forget to call Noah.”
“I know, I’m going to call him in a couple hours.”
As I hang up, a movement on the balcony catches my
attention and I look up to see Hardin. He’s dressed now, in his
normal black T-shirt and black jeans. His feet are bare, and his
eyes are focused on me.
“Who was that?” he asks.
“My mother,” I respond and pull my knees up to my chest
in the chair.
“Why did she call?” He grabs the back of the empty chair,
and it squeaks as he pulls it closer to me before sitting down.
“I called her,” I answer without looking at him.
“Why is my phone out here?” He grabs it from my lap and
scans it.
“I was using the internet.”
“Oh,” he says as if he doesn’t believe me.
If he doesn’t have anything to hide, why would he care?
“Who were you talking about when you said you were
going to call him?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the hot tub.
I look over at him. “Noah,” I respond drily.
His eyes narrow. “Like hell you are.”
“Well, I am.”
“Why do you need to talk to him?” He places his hands on
his knees and leans forward. “You don’t.”
“So you can spend hours with someone else and come back
drunk, but—”
“He’s your ex-boyfriend,” he interrupts.
“And how do I know she isn’t one of your ex-girlfriends?”
“Because I don’t have any ex-girlfriends, remember?”
I huff in frustration; my earlier resolve has now faded, and
I’m getting angry again. “Okay, all the girls you fucked around
with, then. In any case,” I continue, my voice low and clear,
“you don’t get to tell me who I am allowed to call. Ex-
boyfriend or not.”
“I thought you weren’t mad at me.”
I sigh, staring out onto the water and away from his
piercing green eyes. “I’m not, I’m really not. You did exactly
what I expected you to do.”
“Which was . . . ?”
“Running off for hours, then returning with liquor on your
breath.”
“You told me to leave.”
“That doesn’t make it okay that you came back drunk.”
“And here it is!” he groans. “I knew you wouldn’t stay
quiet like you did last night.”
“Stay quiet? See, that’s your problem; you expect me to
stay quiet. I’m over it.”
“Over what?” He leans toward me, his face too close to
mine.
“This . . .” I wave my hand dramatically and rise to my feet.
“I’m just over all of it. You go ahead and do whatever the hell
you want, but you can find someone else to sit here beside you
and not take note of your antics and remain quiet—because
I’m not doing it anymore.” I turn away from him.
He jumps to his feet and hooks his fingers around my arm
to gently pull me back. “Stop,” he orders. One large hand
spreads across my waist while the other goes to my arm. I
think about twisting free, but then he pulls me to his chest.
“Stop fighting me—you’re not going anywhere.”
His lips press into a hard line as I pull my arm from his
grasp.
“Let me go, and I’ll sit down,” I huff. I don’t want to give
in, but I also refuse to ruin anyone else’s time on this trip. If I
go downstairs, Hardin will surely follow, and we’ll end up
staging a big blowout in front of his family.
He swiftly lets go of me, and I plop myself into the chair
again. He sits back down across from me and stares at me
expectantly with his elbows on his thighs.
“What?” I snap.
“So you’re leaving me, then?” he whispers, which softens
my harsh demeanor a little.
“If you mean leaving to Seattle, yes.”
“Monday?”
“Yes, Monday. I’ve gone over this with you again and
again. I know you thought that little stunt you pulled would
discourage me,” I say, seething, “but it didn’t, and nothing you
can do will.”
“Nothing?” He looks up at me through his thick lashes.
I’ll marry you, he told me while he was drunk. Does he
mean it now? As much as I want to ask him right here, right
now, I can’t. I don’t think I’m ready for his sober answer.
“Hardin, what is it in Seattle that you’re so eager to avoid?”
I ask instead.
His eyes dart away from mine. “Nothing important.”
“Hardin, I swear, if there’s something that you’ve kept from
me, I will never speak to you again,” I say, and mean it. “I’ve
had enough of this shit, honestly.”
“It’s nothing, Tessa. I have some old friends there that I
don’t particularly care for because they’re part of my old life.”
“ ‘Old life’?”
“My life before you: the drinking, the parties, fucking every
girl that passed my way,” he says. When I cringe, he mumbles
“Sorry” but continues. “There’s no big secret, just bad
memories. But that’s not why I don’t want to go, anyway.”
I wait for him to get to the heart of the matter, but he
doesn’t say anything else. “Okay, then tell me why. Because I
don’t get it.”
His face is devoid of any emotion as he looks into my eyes.
“Why do you need an explanation? I don’t want to go and I
don’t want you to go without me.”
“Well, that’s not enough of an explanation. I’m going,” I
say and shake my head. “And you know what? I don’t want
you to come with me anymore.”
“What?” His eyes darken.
“I don’t want you to come.” I stay as calm as possible and
stand up from the chair. I’m proud of myself for having this
discussion without yelling. “You’ve tried to ruin this for me—
this has been my dream since I can remember, and you tried to
ruin it for me. You’ve turned something that I should be
looking forward to into something that I can barely stand. I
should be excited and ready to go meet my dreams. But
instead you’ve made sure I have nowhere to live and no
support system at all. So no, I don’t want you to go.”
His mouth opens and closes before he stands and paces
across the wooden deck. “You . . .” he begins, but then stops
himself, looking like he’s reconsidering his thoughts.
But being Hardin, things never change, and he chooses the
harder, uglier path instead. “You . . . you know what, Tessa?
No one gives a fuck about Seattle except someone like you.
Who the hell grows up planning on moving to Seattle fucking
Washington. Real ambitious,” he growls. He takes in a deep,
violent breath. “And in case you forgot, I’m the only reason
you have that opportunity to begin with. You think anyone else
is getting a paid fucking internship as a freshman in college?
Fuck, no! Most people struggle to get a paid internship even
after they graduate.”
“That’s not even close to the fucking point here.” I roll my
eyes at him and the nerve he has.
“Then what is the point, you ungrateful—”
I take a step toward him, and my hand flies at him before I
really register what I’m doing.
But Hardin’s too quick and grabs me by the wrist, stopping
me only inches from his cheek.
“Don’t,” he warns. His voice is rough, laced with anger,
and I wish he hadn’t stopped me from slapping him. His minty
breath fans across my cheeks as he tries to control his temper.
Bring it on, Hardin, my thoughts challenge. I’m not
intimidated by his harsh breathing or his foul words. I can give
them back to him in spades.
“You don’t get to talk to people like that without
consequences.” My words come out low, threatening even.
“Consequences?” He stares down at me with burning eyes.
“I’ve known nothing in my life but consequences.”
I hate the way he’s taking credit for my internship, I hate
the way he pushes when I pull and I push when he pulls. I hate
the way he drives my anger to grow so strong that I would try
to slap him, and I hate the way I feel as if I’m losing control of
something I’m not sure I’ve ever held. I look up at him, his
hand still holding my wrist, using only enough pressure to
keep me from attempting to slap him again, and he looks hurt,
in a dangerous way. There’s a challenge behind his eyes that
makes my stomach turn.
He brings my hand to his chest, his eyes never leaving
mine, and says, “You know nothing of consequences.”
Then he walks away from me, that look still in his eyes, and
my hand drops down to my side.
chapter thirty-five
HARDIN
Who the fuck does she think she is? She thinks just because I
don’t want to go to Seattle with her that she can say shit like
this to me? She doesn’t want me to fucking go?
She fucking uninvited me to Seattle, and she’s the one
trying to slap me? I don’t fucking think so. I was only seeing
red as I spoke, and her trying to hit me surprised me—a lot. I
left her with wide eyes, her pupils blown in rage, but I had to
get as far from that bullshit as I could.
I find myself at the small coffee shop in town. The coffee
tastes like tar, and the weird-ass muffin I got is even worse. I
hate this bullshit small town and its lack of every goddamn
thing.
I tear three sugar packets at once and dump them into the
disgusting coffee, stirring it with a plastic spoon. It’s too early
for this shit.
“Good morning,” a familiar voice greets. Not the voice I
wanted to hear, though.
“Why are you here?” I roll my eyes and ask Lillian as she
comes around from behind me.
“Well, you obviously aren’t a morning person,” she says
saccharinely and takes the seat in front of me.
“Go away,” I huff and look around the small café. A line
has formed nearly to the door, and almost all of the tables are
full. I should probably do everyone in line a favor and tell
them to find a fucking Starbucks, because this place blows.
She eyes me. “You didn’t apologize, did you.”
“God, you are so damn nosy.” I pinch the bridge of my
nose, and she smiles.
“Are you going to finish that?” She gestures to the rock-
hard muffin in front of me.
I slide it over to her, and she tears off a piece. “I wouldn’t
eat that,” I warn, but she does anyway.
“It’s not that bad,” she lies. I can tell she wants to spit it
out, but instead she swallows it down. “So are you going to
tell me why you didn’t apologize to Tamara?”
“Her fucking name is Tessa, if you call her—”
“Whoa, calm down. Joke, joke! I was just messing with
you.” She giggles, proud of her annoying self.
“Ha. Ha.” I down the rest of my coffee.
“Anyway, why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” she presses.
“Why do you care, anyway?” I lean toward her, and she sits
back in the chair.
“I don’t know . . . because you seem to love her, and you’re
my friend.”
“Your friend? I don’t even know you, and you sure as hell
don’t know me,” I declare.
Her neutral expression falters for a moment, and she blinks
her eyes slowly. If she cries, I’m going to punch someone. I
can’t handle this much drama this early in the fucking
morning.
“Look, you’re cool and all. But this”—I gesture back and
forth between her body and mine—“isn’t a friendship. I don’t
have friendships.”
She tilts her head to the side. “You don’t have any friends?
Not even one?”
“No, I have people I party with and Tessa.”
“You should have friends; at least one.”
“What would be the point of you and me being friends?
We’re only here until tomorrow afternoon.”
She shrugs. “We could be friends until then.”
“You obviously don’t have any friends either.”
“Not many. Riley doesn’t seem to like them.”
“And? Why does that matter?”
“Because I don’t want to start a fight with her, so I just
don’t hang out with them much.”
“Sorry, but Riley sounds like a bitch.”
“Don’t say that about her.” Lillian’s cheeks flush, and for
the first time since I met her she’s exhibiting an emotion
besides calmness or omniscience.
I play with my cup smoothly, kind of glad to get a rise out
of her. “Just saying. I wouldn’t let someone tell me who I can
and can’t be friends with.”
“So you’re telling me that Tessa has friends she hangs out
with besides you?” She raises her brow, and I look away to
think about her question.
She has friends . . . she has Landon. “Yes.”
“You don’t count.”
“No, not me. Landon.”
“Landon is your stepbrother; he doesn’t count.”
Steph is sort of Tessa’s friend but not really, and Zed . . .
not a problem anymore. “She has me,” I say.
She smirks. “That’s exactly what I thought.”
“What does it matter? Once we get away from here, and
start over, she can make new friends. We can make new
friends together.”
“Sure. The problem is that you aren’t going to the same
place,” she reminds me.
“She’ll come with me. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but
you don’t know her. I do, and I know she can’t live without
me.”
Lillian looks up at me with thoughtful eyes. “You know,
there’s a big difference between not being able to live without
someone and loving them.”
This chick doesn’t even know what she’s talking about—
she makes no sense. “I don’t want to talk about her anymore;
if we’re going to be friends, I need to know about you and
Regan.”
“Riley,” she says sharply.
I chuckle lightly. “Annoying, isn’t it?”
Lillian glowers playfully at me, but then tells me all about
how she met her girlfriend. They were partnered up together
for Lillian’s freshman orientation. Riley had been rude at first
but later made a move on her, surprising both of them.
Apparently this Riley has a jealous streak and a temper.
Sounds familiar.
“Most of our fights stem from her jealousy. She’s always
afraid that I’ll stray from her. I don’t know why, because she’s
the one always getting attention from everyone, male and
female, and she’s dated both.” She sighs. “So it’s sort of like
everyone’s fair game.”
“You haven’t?”
“No, I’ve never dated a guy.” She crinkles her nose. “Well,
once in eighth grade, because I felt like I had to. My friends
were hassling me for never having a boyfriend.”
“Why didn’t you just tell them?” I ask her.
“It’s not that simple.”
“It should be.”
She smiles. “Yes, it should be. But it’s not. Anyway, I’ve
never dated anyone except Riley and one other girl.” Then her
smile disappears. “Riley’s dated a lot.”
THE REST OF MY MORNING and the entire afternoon is
spent this way, listening to this girl’s problems. I don’t mind as
much as I thought, though. It’s nice to know I’m not the only
one with these types of issues. Lillian reminds me a lot of
Tessa and Landon. If they were morphed into one person, it
would certainly be Lillian. I hate to admit it, but I don’t mind
her company too much. She’s an outsider, like me, but she
doesn’t judge me, because she barely knows me. Strangers
come and go, in and out of the coffee shop, and each time a
blonde steps in, I can’t help but look up, hoping it will be my
blond stranger.
A funny little tune starts to play. “That would be my dad
calling . . .” Lillian says and looks down at her phone. “Shit,
it’s almost five,” she says, panicked. “We need to go. Well, I
need to go. I still don’t have anything to wear tonight.”
“For what?” I ask her when she stands up.
“Dinner. You knew we’re going to dinner with your
parents, didn’t you?”
“Karen isn’t my . . .” I begin but decide to let it go. She
knows.
I get up and follow her down the block to a small clothing
store filled with colorful dresses and gaudy jewelry. It smells
like mothballs and salt water.
“There’s nothing to choose from,” she groans, holding up a
bright pink frilly dress.
“That’s hideous,” I tell her, and she nods, hanging it back
up.
I can’t help but think of what Tessa is doing right now. Is
she wondering where I am? I’m sure she assumes that I’m
with Lillian, which is true, but she doesn’t have anything to
worry about. She knows this.
Wait . . . no, she doesn’t. I haven’t told her about Lillian’s
girlfriend.
“Tessa doesn’t know you’re gay,” I blurt as she shows me a
black beaded dress.
She looks at me smoothly and just sweeps her hand across
the dress again, kind of like she did with the brandy bottle last
night.
“I’m not giving you fashion advice here, so stop trying,” I
groan.
She rolls her eyes. “So why didn’t you tell her?”
I poke at this feather necklace thing. “I don’t know, I didn’t
think about it.”
“Well, I’m oh-so-flattered that my orientation was so
unnnotable to you,” she says with feigned gratitude and a
spread hand at her neck. “But you really should tell her.” She
smiles. “No wonder she almost backhanded you.”
I knew I shouldn’t have told her about the slap.
“Shut up. I’ll tell her . . .” Although it might work in my
favor not to, actually. “Maybe,” I add.
Lillian rolls her eyes, again. She rolls her eyes almost as
much as Tessa does.
“She’s difficult, and I know what I’m doing, okay?” I think
I do, at least. I know exactly how to push her buttons to get
what I want.
“You need to dress up tonight; the place we’re going is
disgustingly fancy,” she warns me while eyeing the dress with
a twist of the hanger.
“Hell no, I’m not. What makes you think I’m going,
anyway?”
“Why not? You want to make the missus a little less pissed
off, don’t you?”
The sound of her words throws me off for a moment. “ ‘The
missus’? Don’t call her that.”
She slaps a white button-up against my chest. “Just wear a
nice shirt at least, otherwise my dad will give you shit about it
all night,” she says and steps into the dressing room.
A few minutes later she comes out in the black dress. It
looks good on her—she’s hot and all—but I immediately start
fantasizing about how Tessa would look in it. It would be
much tighter: Tessa’s boobs are much bigger than Lillian’s,
Tessa’s hips are a little wider, so she would fill the dress much
better.
“It’s not as ugly as the rest of the shit in here,” I half
compliment, and she closes the curtain with yet another eye
roll and a middle finger.
chapter thirty-six
TESSA
I stare into the long mirror and ask Landon, “Are you sure this
looks okay?”
“Yes, it’s fine,” he says with a smile. “Can we try to
remember that I’m a guy, though?”
I sigh, then chuckle. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s not my fault
you’re my only friend.”
The dark sparkly dress feels odd against my skin; the
material is hard, and the small beads scratch me a little when I
move. The small clothing boutique in town didn’t have much
to choose from, and I surely wasn’t going to pick the hot-pink
dress made entirely of tulle. I need something to wear to this
dreaded dinner tonight, and Hardin’s suggestion that I wear
jeans isn’t going to work.
“Do you think he’ll even come back before it’s time to
leave?” I ask Landon.
Hardin took off, as always, after our fight and hasn’t been
back since. He hasn’t called or texted either. He’s probably
with the mystery girl with whom he loves to discuss our
problems. You know, the girl he can talk to better than he can
talk to his own girlfriend. In his anger, I wouldn’t be surprised
if he did something with her to spite me.
No . . . he wouldn’t.
“I don’t know, honestly,” Landon says. “I hope he does. My
mom will be disappointed if he doesn’t.”
“Yeah.” I push another pin into my bun and grab my
mascara off of the bathroom counter.
“He’ll come around, he’s just stubborn.”
“I don’t know if we will, though.” I sweep the small brush
across my lashes. “I’m reaching my breaking point, I can feel
it. You know what I felt last night when he told me he was
with another girl?”
“What?” He stares blankly at me.
“I think this is just the end of the turbulent love story.” I try
to make a joke, but it falls flat.
“It’s weird hearing you say that, you of all people,” he says.
“How are you feeling?”
“A little angry, but that’s it. It’s like I’m numb to it now, to
all of it. I just don’t have it in me to keep doing this over and
over. I’m beginning to think he’s a lost cause, and that breaks
my heart,” I say, forbidding myself from crying.
“Nobody’s a lost cause. They just think they are, so they
don’t even bother to try sometimes.”
“Are you guys ready?” Karen’s voice calls from the living
room, and Landon assures her that we’ll be down any minute.
I slide on my new pair of black heels with straps at the ankles.
Unfortunately, they’re as uncomfortable as they look. It’s
times like this that I miss wearing Toms every day.
Hardin still hasn’t returned by the time we pile into the
car. “We can’t wait any longer,” Ken says through a
disappointed frown.
“It’s fine, we can bring him something back,” Karen
sweetly offers, knowing that’s not the solution but trying her
best to calm her husband’s irritation.
Landon looks over at me, and I offer a smile to assure him
that I’m fine. He tries to distract me the whole drive talking
about various students we know, making little jokes about how
they are in class. Especially some of the ones in the religion
course.
As Ken pulls up to our destination, I see that the restaurant
is exquisite. The building is a massive log cabin, big enough to
be a lodge, and the inside contradicts the woodsy feel of the
exterior. It’s modern and sleek, black and white everywhere,
with gray accents along the walls and floor. The lighting is
right on the verge of being too dark, but it adds to the
atmosphere. Unexpectedly, my dress is the brightest thing in
the room; when the light hits the glittering beads, they shine
like diamonds in the dark, which everyone seems to notice.
“Scott,” I hear Ken tell the beautiful woman behind the
rostrum.
“The rest of your party is already here.” She smiles, her
perfect teeth white nearly to the point of blinding.
“Party?” I turn to Landon, and he shrugs.
We follow the woman to a table in the corner of the room. I
hate the way everyone seems to be staring at me because of
this dress. I should have gone with the hot-pink monstrosity; it
would have attracted less attention. A middle-aged man
knocks over his drink as we walk by, and Landon pulls me
closer to his side as we pass the creep. The dress isn’t
inappropriate; it rests just above my knees. The problem is that
it was made for someone with a much smaller bust than me,
causing the built-in bra to act as a push-up, giving me
maximum cleavage.
“It’s about time you joined us,” an unfamiliar male voice
says, and I peer around Karen to look for the source.
A man, who I assume is Ken’s friend, stands to shake his
hand. My eyes move to his right, where his wife is smiling,
greeting Karen. Next to her is a young girl—the girl, I sense
on instinct—and my stomach drops. She’s beautiful, extremely
beautiful.
And she’s wearing the exact same dress as I am.
Of course.
I can see the bright blue of her eyes from here, and when
she smiles at me, she’s even more beautiful. I’m so distracted
by my growing jealousy that I almost fail to notice that Hardin
is sitting right next to her, dressed in a white button-down
shirt.
chapter thirty-seven
HARDIN
Oh my God . . .” Lillian whispers loudly. I’m broken from my
thoughts of my earlier fight with Tessa and look up to see what
she’s gaping at.
Tessa.
In a dress . . . that fucking dress that I was imagining her in.
And it makes her already big chest look . . . fuck. I blink
rapidly, trying to collect myself before she reaches the table.
For a moment I’m convinced that I’m hallucinating; it looks
even sexier than I imagined. Every guy she passes turns to
look at her; one even knocks over his drink. I grip the edge of
the table waiting for the asshole to speak to her. If he does, I
swear to fuck—
“That’s Tessa? Oh my God.” Lillian is practically panting.
“Stop staring at her,” I warn, and she laughs.
The man who knocked over his drink leans away from his
wife as his eyes follow my girl.
“Chill,” Lillian says, gently touching my hands. My scarred
knuckles are now white from my tight grip on the table.
Landon pulls Tessa close to him and away from the married
asshole; she smiles up at him, and he pulls her even closer as
they walk. What the fuck was that?
Tessa stands behind Landon as Lillian’s parents and Karen
and Ken go through the normal I’m-so-fucking-classy-
because-I-shake-your-hand-even-though-I-saw-you-last-night
shit. Before I know it, Tessa’s eyes find Lillian, and they
widen and lower. She’s jealous.
Good. I was hoping she’d be.
chapter thirty-eight
TESSA
Panic courses through me at the sight of Hardin sitting next to
this girl—he doesn’t even acknowledge my presence as I take
the seat next to Landon, on the other side of the table from
him.
“Hello, and who might you be?” Ken’s friend asks with a
smile. I can tell by his tone that he’s one of those men that
think they are better than everyone else in the room.
“Hi, I’m Tessa,” I say, then smile curtly and nod. “Landon’s
friend.”
My eyes dart to Hardin, whose lips press into a thin line.
Well, he’s clearly entertaining the man’s daughter, so why ruin
their fun?
“It’s great to meet you, Tessa. I’m Max, and this is Denise.”
He gestures to the woman beside him.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Denise says. “The two of you are an
adorable couple.”
Hardin starts coughing. Or choking. I don’t want to look at
him and see which . . . but I can’t help it. When I do, his eyes
are narrow, glaring at me.
Landon laughs. “Oh, we aren’t together.” He looks at
Hardin, like he expects him to say something.
Of course he doesn’t. The girl looks slightly lost and a little
uncomfortable. Good. Hardin leans into her and says
something into her ear, and she smiles at him before shaking
her head. What the hell is happening?
“I’m Lillian; it’s nice to meet you,” she introduces herself
with a friendly smile.
Bitch.
“You, too,” I manage to say in return. My heart is
hammering in my chest, and I can barely see straight. If we
weren’t at the table with Hardin’s family and Ken’s friends, I
would throw a drink in Hardin’s face, and with his eyes
stinging, he wouldn’t have a chance to stop me from slapping
him this time. A menu is placed in front of each of us, and I
wait as one of the empty glasses in front of me is filled with
water. Ken and Max begin to talk about the oddness of having
to choose between tap and bottled water.
“Do you know what you want?” Landon asks quietly a few
moments later. I know he’s trying to distract me from Hardin
and his new friend.
“I . . . I don’t know,” I whisper and look over the fancy
handwritten menu. I can’t imagine eating right now; my
stomach won’t stop turning, and I can’t seem to control my
breathing.
“Do you want to go?” he says into my ear. I glance across
the table at Hardin, whose eyes meet mine before he turns
back to Lillian.
Yes. I want to get the hell out of here and tell Hardin to
never speak to me again.
“No. I’m not going anywhere,” I say and sit up higher,
straightening my back against the chair.
“Good.” Landon praises me as a handsome server arrives at
our table.
“We’ll have a bottle of your best white wine,” Ken’s friend
tells him, and he nods. Just as he begins to walk away, Max
calls after him.
“We weren’t finished yet,” he says. Max orders a list of
appetizers. I’ve never heard of any of the dishes he’s chosen,
but I don’t suspect I’ll be eating much of them anyway.
I try desperately not to look across the table at Hardin, but
it’s hard, so damn hard. Why would he come here with her?
He’s dressed up, too; if he doesn’t have jeans on under the
table, I think what’s left of my heart will shatter. It takes me an
hour of begging to get Hardin dressed in anything other than
black jeans and a T-shirt, yet here he is next to this girl in a
white button-down.
“I’ll give you a few minutes to look over the menu, and if
you have any questions about the dishes, my name is Robert,”
the server says. His eyes meet mine, and his mouth opens
slightly before he looks away quickly, only to look back at me.
It’s this dress and the damn cleavage. I offer a small, awkward
smile, and he returns it, red creeping up his neck and spreading
to his cheeks.
I expect him to look at Hardin, but then I remember that
due to the way we’re seated, it’s Landon and I that look like a
couple, and Hardin’s with Lillian. My stomach flips again.
“Hey, man. Take our order, or go,” Hardin says,
interrupting my thoughts.
“S-sorry,” Robert stammers and leaves the table in haste.
All eyes move to Hardin, mostly showing disapproval of
his behavior. Karen looks embarrassed; Ken, too.
“Don’t worry, he’ll be back. It’s his job,” Max says with a
shrug. He would think Hardin’s behavior was acceptable.
I scowl at Hardin, but he doesn’t seem to care, he’s too
infatuated by those damn blue eyes. As I watch him with her I
feel like he’s a stranger to me, as if I’m intruding on some
private moment shared between a loving couple. The thought
causes bile to rise in my throat. I swallow it down, and I’m
thankful when the server, Robert, returns with the wine and ice
buckets, this time bringing another server along, likely for
moral support. Or protection.
Hardin watches him the entire time, and I roll my eyes at
his audacity: glaring at the poor guy when here he is, acting as
if he doesn’t know me at all.
Nervously, Robert fills my glass to the brim, and I quietly
thank him. He smiles less shyly this time and moves to fill
Landon’s. I’ve never seen Landon drink except at Ken and
Karen’s wedding, and even then he only had one glass of
champagne. If I wasn’t so distraught over Hardin’s behavior,
I’d turn down the wine and not drink in front of Ken and
Karen, but I’ve had a long day, and without the wine I don’t
think I be able to make it through this dinner.
Ken covers the top of his glass and says, “No, thank you,”
when Robert comes his way.
I look up at Hardin to make sure he isn’t readying a snide
remark about his father, but once again he’s talking quietly to
Lillian.
I’m so confused right now—why is he doing this? Yes, we
were fighting, but this is too much.
Taking a big sip, I find that the wine is cool and crisp and
deliciously sweet on my tongue. I’m tempted to just gulp it all
down, but I have to pace myself. The last thing I need is to get
drunk and emotional in front of everyone. Hardin doesn’t
decline the wine, but Lillian does. He rolls his eyes at her,
teasing her, and I force my eyes away from them before I turn
into a puddle of tears on the beautifully stained hardwood
floor.
“. . . MAX WAS scaling the wall—he was so drunk that he
had to be pulled down by campus security!” Ken says, and
everyone at our table laughs.
Everyone except Hardin, of course.
I twirl my fork around my pasta and take another bite. I
focus on how delicious the freshly made noodles are, and how
they look wound around the tines of the fork. Otherwise I’d
have to focus on Hardin.
“I think you have an admirer,” Denise says to me. I look up
and follow her eyes to Robert, who is clearing the dishes from
the table beside us, his eyes on me.
“Don’t pay him too much attention; just a waiter wanting
what he can’t have,” Max states with a sly smile, surprising
me with his callousness.
“Dad.” Lillian glares at her father.
But he just gives her a smile before cutting into his steak.
“Sorry, sweetie, I’m only stating the truth . . . A girl as
beautiful as Tessa here shouldn’t be looking at anyone
working in hospitality.”
If only he’d stopped there, but oblivious—or immune to—
our discomfort, Max continues his degrading remarks until I
finally drop my fork onto my plate with a clatter.
“Don’t,” Hardin says to me, speaking to me for the first
time since I arrived.
Shocked, I look at him, then back to Max, weighing my
options. He’s being a jerk, and I’ve had almost an entire glass
of wine. I should probably keep my mouth shut, like Hardin
said.
“You can’t talk about people like that.” Lillian looks at her
father and he shrugs.
“Fine, fine,” he grumbles, waving his knife a little and
chewing on his steak. “Far be it from me to upset anyone.”
Beside him, his wife looks embarrassed as she wipes the
corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin.
“I’m going to need more wine,” I tell Landon, and he
smiles, sliding his half-empty glass over to me. I smile at the
gesture. “I’ll wait for Robert to come back to the table. Thank
you, though.”
I can feel Hardin’s eyes on me as I search the restaurant. I
don’t see the server’s blond hair, so I reach over, grab the
bottle myself, and fill my glass. I half expect Max to make a
comment about my manners, but he refrains. Hardin is staring
coolly across the room, and Lillian is talking to her mother.
I’m in my own world, a hallucination in which Hardin is
sitting next to me, his hand on my thigh, and he leans in to
make some cheeky comment that makes me laugh and blush
feverishly.
My head is a little fuzzy as I clear all of the food off my
plate and finish off my second glass of wine. Landon is in
conversation with Max and Ken about sports, of course. I stare
at the printed tablecloth, trying to find faces or pictures inside
the black and white swirls. I find a cluster that resembles an H,
and my finger traces the pattern repeatedly. Suddenly I stop
and look up quickly, paranoid that he may have seen me
tracing the letter.
But Hardin isn’t paying attention to me; his eyes are only
for her.
“I need some air,” I tell Landon and stand. My chair
screeches against the wooden floor, and Hardin looks up from
his conversation momentarily, but then he catches himself and
pretends to have only been looking for his water before he
returns to talking to this new girl of his.
chapter thirty-nine
TESSA
My heels clacking loudly on the hardwood, I concentrate on
making it to the back door of the restaurant through my
alcohol haze. If we were closer to home, I’d leave right now,
pack my bags for Seattle, and stay in a hotel until I found an
apartment.
I am so sick of Hardin doing this kind of shit to me—it’s
painful and embarrassing, and it’s breaking me down. He’s
breaking me down, and he knows it. That’s exactly why he’s
doing it. He’s said as much before: he does these things
because he knows they’ll get to me.
When I push through the door—briefly hoping it won’t set
off an alarm or something—the chill night air envelops me.
It’s calming, blanketing me in something other than the stale
air and awkward tension of dull dinner companions.
I rest my elbows on a rock ledge and look out into the
woods. It’s dark, nearly pitch-black out there. The restaurant is
nestled right in the middle of a wooded area, creating a
secluded atmosphere. It works, and would be wonderful, but
it’s not ideal for me right now, when I already feel trapped.
“Are you all right?” a voice sounds from behind me.
When I turn, Robert is standing in the doorway, a stack of
plates in one hand.
“Um, yeah, I just needed to breathe,” I say.
“Oh, it’s a little cold out here.” He smiles. His smile is
polite and actually very endearing.
I give a smile back. “Yeah, a little.”
Both of us stand in silence. It’s slightly awkward, but I
don’t mind. Nothing is as awkward as sitting at that table.
A few seconds later he speaks up. “I haven’t seen you
around here before.” He gently places the plates on an empty
table and walks closer to me. He leans his elbows on the ledge
only a few feet away.
“I’m visiting. I’ve never been here before.”
“You should visit in the summer. February is the worst time
to come. Well, except for November and December . . . maybe
even January.” His cheeks flush as he stammers, “Y-you get
what I mean.” Then he lets out a little chucklelike sound.
Trying not to giggle at him and his red cheeks, I say, “I bet
it’s beautiful in the summer.”
“Yeah, you are.” His eyes widen. “I mean it is. It is
beautiful,” he corrects himself, and runs his hand over his face.
I force my lips together in an attempt not to laugh at him,
but I can’t help it. A small giggle escapes, causing him to look
even more horrified than before.
“Do you live here?” I ask, trying to sidestep his
embarrassment. His company is refreshing; it’s nice to be
around someone who’s not so intimidating. Hardin owns every
room he’s in, and his presence is overwhelming half the time.
That calms him a tiny bit. “Yeah, born and raised. And
you?”
“I go to WCU. I’ll be starting at the Seattle campus next
week.” I feel like I’ve been waiting so long to say those words.
“Wow, Seattle. Impressive!”
He smiles and I laugh again. “Sorry, wine makes me laugh
a lot,” I blurt, and he looks over at me with a grin.
“Well, I’m glad it’s not me that you’re laughing at.” His
eyes roam my face, and I turn away. He looks back to the
restaurant. “You should get back inside before your boyfriend
comes looking for you.”
I turn around to look in through the windows into the
elegant space. Hardin’s head is still turned toward Lillian.
“Trust me, no one is coming to look for me,” I say with a
sigh, and my bottom lip quivers as my heart betrays me,
sinking lower and lower.
“He looks pretty lost without you,” Robert tries to reassure
me.
I spy Landon looking around the room, with nobody to talk
to. “Oh! That’s not my boyfriend. Mine is the one across the
table—the one with the tattoos.” I watch as Robert looks at
Hardin and Lillian and confusion sweeps over his soft
features. Swirls of black ink peek out from the top of Hardin’s
collared dress shirt. I love the way white looks on him; I love
being able to see the hint of ink under the light-colored fabric.
“Um, does he know he’s your boyfriend?” Robert asks,
raising his eyebrow.
I tear my eyes away from Hardin as he smirks, a deep
smirk, the kind of smirk that shows his dimples, the kind of
smirk that is usually given only to me. “I’m beginning to
wonder the same thing.”
I bring my hands to my face and shake my head. “It’s
complicated,” I groan.
Hold yourself together, don’t fall into his game. Not this
time.
Robert shrugs. “Well, who better to talk about your
problems with than a stranger?”
We both gaze at the table that I’m missing from. No one
except Landon seems to even notice.
“Don’t you have to work?” I ask, hoping that he doesn’t.
Robert is young, older than me, but he can’t be any older than
twenty-three at the most.
He seems fully confident as he smiles and says, “Yeah, but
I have it in good with the owner,” seeming to be telling
himself a joke that I’m not included in.
“Oh.”
“So, if that’s your boyfriend, who’s the girl with him?”
“Her name is Lillian.” I can hear the venom in my own
voice. “I don’t know her, neither does he . . . well, he didn’t,
but apparently now he does.”
Robert’s eyes meet mine. “So he brought her here to make
you jealous?”
“I don’t know; it’s not working. Well, I am jealous—I
mean, look at her. She’s wearing the same dress as I am, and
she looks way better in it.”
“No; no, she doesn’t,” he says quietly, and I smile, thanking
him.
“We were getting along fine until yesterday. Well, fine for
us. And then we got in a fight this morning—but we always
fight. I mean, we fight all the time, so I don’t know what it is
about this fight that’s so different, but it is. It’s different; it
doesn’t feel like the rest of our fights, and now he’s ignoring
me the way he used to when we first met.” I realize that I’ve
been speaking more to myself than to this stranger with
curious blue eyes. “I sound insane, I know I do. It’s the wine.”
The corners of his lips turn into a smile, and he shakes his
head. “No, not insane at all.” Robert smiles, which brings a
little laugh out of me. With a nod at my table, he says, “He’s
looking at you.”
My head snaps up to look. Sure enough, Hardin’s eyes are
on me and my new shrink, eyes that burn into me and make
me literally flinch at their intensity.
“You should probably go inside,” I warn him. I’m
expecting Hardin to get up from the table at any time, to rush
out here and throw Robert over the deck and into the woods.
He doesn’t, though. He remains still, his fingers wrapped
around the stem of a wineglass as he looks at me one last time
before lifting his free hand and resting it across the back of
Lillian’s chair. Oh God. My chest tightens at his callous action.
“I’m sorry,” Robert says.
I’d almost forgotten he was next to me.
“It’s fine, really. I should be used to it. I’ve been playing
these games with him for six months now.” I cringe at the
truth, cursing myself for not learning my lesson after one
month, or two, or three—yet here I am outside with a stranger
watching as Hardin shamelessly flirts with another girl. “I
don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, I’m the one who asked,” he kindly reminds me. “And
we’ve got plenty more wine, if you want some.” His smile is
kind and playful.
“I certainly will need more.” I nod and turn away from the
window. “Do you get this a lot? Half-drunk girls whining
about their boyfriends?”
He chuckles. “No, actually, it’s usually rich old men
complaining that their steak isn’t medium rare.”
“Like the guy at my table, the one in the red tie.” I gesture
to Max. “God, he’s a jerk.”
Robert nods in agreement. “Yeah, he is. No offense, but
anyone who sends a salad back because it has ‘too many
olives’ is a jerk by definition.”
We both laugh, and I cover my mouth with the back of my
hand, then worry that the laughter will bring some of my tears
out.
“Right! He’s so serious, too, like he gave us this massive
speech on his well-considered reasoning about olives after
that.” I deepen my voice to try to mimic the annoying girl’s
annoying father. “ ‘Too many olives overpowers the delicate
yet earthy taste of the arugula.’ ”
Robert bursts out laughing, doubling over. Hands on his
knees, he looks up, and asks in a voice much closer to Max’s
than mine was, “ ‘Could I have four? Three just will not do,
and five is far too many—it simply does not balance the flavor
palate!’ ”
I lose myself in laughter to the point that my stomach is
aching. I don’t know how long it lasts, but I hear a door open
suddenly, and Robert and I both instinctively stop and look
up . . . to see Hardin standing in the doorway.
I stand up straight, smoothing my dress. I can’t help but
feel like I was doing something wrong, even though I know
that I wasn’t.
“Am I interrupting something?” Hardin barks, commanding
all attention.
“Yes,” I respond, my voice coming out as clear as I was
hoping. My breath is still staccato from laughing so hard, my
head is swimming from the wine, and my heart is aching over
Hardin.
Hardin looks to Robert. “Apparently.”
Robert’s face still holds a smile, his eyes alight with humor
as Hardin tries his best to intimidate him. But he doesn’t falter,
he doesn’t even blink. Even he has had enough of Hardin’s
shit—and he’s trained to always be nice. But here, out of
earshot of the rest of the diners, he doesn’t seem to have a
problem showing his amusement at Hardin’s absurd attitude.
“What do you want?” I ask Hardin. When he turns to me,
his mouth is pressed in a hard line.
“Get inside,” he demands, but I shake my head. “Tessa,
don’t play these games with me. Let’s go.”
He reaches for my arm, but I yank it away and stand my
ground. “I said no. You go back inside—I’m sure your friend
misses you,” I hiss.
“You . . .” Hardin looks back to Robert. “You should really
be the one to go inside. Our drinks are in need of refilling,” he
says, then snaps his fingers in the most insulting way possible.
“I’m off, actually. But I’m sure you can charm someone
else into taking care of your drinks,” Robert says with a shrug.
Hardin’s stance falters momentarily; he’s not used to
anyone talking back to him, especially not strangers.
“Okay, let me rephrase this . . .” He steps toward Robert.
“Get the fuck away from her. Get inside and find something
fucking else to do before I grab you by that fucking ridiculous
collar and bash your head against that ledge.”
“Hardin!” I reproach him, stepping between the two of
them.
But Robert seems unfazed. “Go ahead,” he says slowly,
confidently. “But you should know that this is a very small
town. My dad’s the sheriff, Grandpa’s the judge, and Uncle’s
the one they locked up for assault and battery. So if you want
to take your chances bashing my head in”—he shrugs—“go
for it.”
My mouth is wide open, and I can’t seem to close it.
Hardin’s glare is murderous, and he seems to be weighing his
options as he looks back and forth between Robert, me, and
the inside of the restaurant.
“Let’s go,” he says again to me at last.
“I’m not going,” I tell him, backing away. But I do turn to
Robert and say, “Can you give us a minute, please?”
He nods slowly, giving Hardin one last glare before
walking back inside.
“So what, you’re going to fuck the waiter now?” Hardin
grimaces, and I step back even farther, willing myself not to
break under his stare.
“Would you just stop, already? We both know how this will
go. You’ll keep insulting me. I’ll walk away. You’ll come after
me and tell me you won’t be rude anymore. We’ll go back to
the cabin and sleep together.” I roll my eyes, and he looks
absolutely lost.
In his usual Hardin way, he collects himself rapidly.
Throwing his head back in laughter, he simply says, “Wrong,”
and steps back toward the door. “I won’t be doing that. It
seems you’ve forgotten how it really goes: you throw a fit over
something I say, you walk away, and I only come after you so
I can fuck you. And you . . .” he adds with a sinister glare,
“you always let me.”
My mouth falls open in horror, and my hands move to my
stomach to hold my body together after his splintering words.
“Why?” I gasp, the cold air nowhere to be found as I try to
catch my breath.
“I don’t know. Because you can’t stay away. Probably
because I fuck you better than anyone else ever would.” His
tone is clipped and cruel.
“Why . . . now?” I correct my earlier question. “What I
meant was, why are you doing this now? Is it because I won’t
go to England with you?”
“Yes and no.”
“I won’t give up Seattle for you, so you turn on me?” My
eyes are burning, but I will not cry. “You show up with her”—
I gesture toward Lillian at the table—“and say all these hateful
things to me? I thought we were past this. What happened to
you not being able to live without me? What happened to you
trying your best to treat me the way you should?”
He looks away from me, and for a moment, a barely
recognizable moment, I see a deeper emotion behind his
hateful glare.
“There is a big difference between not being able to live
without someone and loving them,” he says.
And like that, he walks away, whatever was left of my
respect for him following in his wake.
chapter forty
HARDIN
I wanted to hurt her, to make her feel like shit, the way that I
felt when I looked up from the table to see her laughing. She
was fucking laughing when she should have been sitting
across from me vying for my attention. It was like she didn’t
give a fuck about me getting close to Lillian. She was too
focused on the fucking waiter and whatever the hell he was
saying.
So my mind began sifting through hateful thoughts, trying
to pick one that was sure to break her down. Lillian’s
statement from this morning popped in, and it warmed my
anger, so I said it before I could stop myself. There is a big
difference between not being able to live without someone and
loving them.
I almost want to take them back . . . almost. She deserves
them, she really does. She shouldn’t have said that she didn’t
want me to go to Seattle with her. She said I turned on her; I
didn’t turn on her. I’m here for her, on her side. She’s the one
trying to leave me every damn chance she gets.
“I’m leaving,” I announce when I reach the table. Six sets
of eyes look up, and Landon rolls his before looking over to
the door. “She’s outside,” I tell him sarcastically. He can go
out there and put on fucking kid gloves for her—I’m sure as
hell not going to.
“What did you do now?” he has the nerve to ask me in front
of everyone.
I glare at him. “Mind your own fucking business.”
“Hardin,” my father warns. Not him, too—everyone is
fucking against me, apparently. If my father wants to start shit
with me, I fucking dare him.
“I’ll go, too,” Lillian says, standing.
“No,” I snap, but she ignores me and follows me as I make
my way through the restaurant and out the front door.
“What the heck happened?” she asks when we get outside.
Without breaking my stride, I shout over my shoulder, “She
was out there with that fucking guy, that’s what happened.”
“Then what? What did she say when you told her that I’m
not a threat?” She stumbles slightly in her high heels, but I
don’t stop to help her as I try to decide where the hell I’m
actually going. I knew I should have fucking driven my own
car here, but no, Tessa had to get her way. Big surprise there.
“I didn’t tell her.”
“Why not? Do you know what she’s probably thinking right
now?”
“I don’t give a shit what she thinks. I hope she’s thinking
that I’m going to fuck you.”
She stops walking. “Why? If you love her, why would you
want her to think that?”
Oh, lovely, now Lillian is turning on me, too. I turn to face
her. “Because she needs to learn that—”
She holds up one hand. “Stop. Just stop there, because she
doesn’t need to ‘learn’ anything. It seems to me that you’re the
one who needs to be learning something—what did you say to
the poor girl?”
“I said what you said to me this morning about there being
a difference between not being able to live without someone
and loving them,” I tell her.
She shakes her head in confusion. “You said that to her, as
in you can’t live without her but don’t love her?”
“Yes—did I not just tell you that?” Tessa Number Two
needs to just go away, because she’s getting on my last fucking
nerve just like Tessa the Original.
“Wow,” she says, and laughs.
She’s laughing at me, too? “What? What’s so funny?” I
nearly yell.
“You are so clueless,” she mocks me. “When I said that to
you this morning, I wasn’t referring to you, I was talking about
her. I meant that just because you think she can’t live without
you doesn’t mean that she’s in love with you.”
“What?”
“You assume that you have her so wrapped around your
finger that she won’t leave you because she can’t live without
you, when in reality it seems like you have her trapped and
that’s why she won’t leave you: not because she loves you, but
because you’ve made her feel that she can’t be without you.”
“No . . . she loves me.” I know she does, and that’s why
she’ll be following me out here any moment now.
Lillian throws her arms wide. “Does she? Why would she,
when you do things to hurt her on purpose?”
I’ve had enough of this shit. “You’re in no position to be
giving anyone a goddamned lecture.” I throw my hands in the
air as wildly as she just did. “Your girlfriend is probably
fucking someone else right now while you’re here trying to
play couples therapist between Tessa and me,” I growl.
Lillian’s eyes widen, and she takes a step back from me . . .
the way Tessa did only minutes ago. Her blue eyes begin to
water, shining in the darkness. She shakes her head and starts
to walk back toward the restaurant parking lot.
“Where are you going?” I call to her through the wind.
“Back inside. Tessa may be stupid enough to put up with
your crap, but I’m not.”
For a moment I almost follow this girl who I thought was
my . . . friend? I don’t know, but I felt like I could trust her
despite only knowing her for two days.
Fuck that: I’m not following anyone. Tessa or Tessa
Number Two. They can both go to hell—I don’t need either of
them.
chapter forty-one
TESSA
My chest is aching, my throat is dry, and my head is spinning.
Hardin basically just told me that he doesn’t love me and that
he chases me just so he can sleep with me. The worst thing
about the things he said to me is that I know he didn’t mean
them. I know he loves me—he does. In his own way, he loves
me more than anything. He’s shown me that time and time
again in the last six months. But he’s also shown me that he’ll
stop at nothing to hurt me, to make me feel weak just because
his ego is bruised. If he loved me the way he should, he
wouldn’t purposely hurt me.
He couldn’t have meant that he only wants sex from me. He
doesn’t really see me as a toy, does he? With him, truth and
lies slide back and forth as easily as his moods. He couldn’t
have meant it. But he said it with such conviction; he didn’t
even blink. I honestly don’t know anymore. Through all of the
fights, tears, holes in our walls, I have always held on to the
small certainty that he loves me.
Without that, we have nothing. And without him, I have
nothing. The irrational and flaring tempers we both have,
mixed with our young ages, are becoming too much to handle.
There’s a difference between not being able to live without
someone and loving them—the words slice through me again.
The air in this place is too stale, too thick and consuming,
and the laughter of the customers is growing sinister. I look for
an exit. Glass doors leading to a balcony are closed; I open
them and welcome the cool air. I sit there, staring out into the
darkness, enjoying the quiet of the night and my own slowing
mind.
I don’t notice the door to the deck opening until Robert is
next to me. “Brought you something,” he says and holds up
the bottle of wine, waggling it playfully. He dips his shoulder
to one side, and a grin spreads across his handsome face.
I surprise myself by smiling, a real smile, despite the fact
that on the inside I’m screaming, huddled in a corner crying.
“Pity wine?” I question, holding my hands out for the
white-labeled bottle. I recognize it as the same wine Max
ordered earlier; it must have cost a fortune.
He grins, placing the wine in my hands. “What other type
of wine is there?” The bottle is cold, but my hands are nearly
numb from the February air.
“Glasses.” He smiles, dipping his hands into the deep
pockets of his apron. “I couldn’t fit actual wineglasses, so I
grabbed these.” He hands me a small Styrofoam cup, and I
hold it up while he uncorks the bottle.
“Thank you.” The wine fills the cup, and I bring it to my
lips the moment he pulls away.
“We can go inside, you know? There are a few sections that
are closed down already, so we can sit there,” Robert says,
then takes a sip.
“I don’t know.” I sigh, shifting my gaze to the table.
“He left,” he says, the sympathy obvious in his voice. “So
did she,” he adds. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, not really.” I shrug. “Tell me about this wine.” I grasp
for a neutral, nondepressing subject.
“This guy? Okay, well, it’s, um, old and aged to
perfection?” He laughs and I join him. “I’m good at drinking
it, though, not so much studying it.”
“Okay, not the wine, then,” I say. Tipping my cup back, I
finish the rest as quickly as possible.
“Um,” he says, looking behind me. My stomach drops at
his nervous expression, and I hope Hardin isn’t back to spit
more venom at me. When I turn around, Lillian is standing in
the doorway, seemingly unsure whether to come out or not.
“What do you want?” I ask her. I’m trying to control my
jealousy, but the wine coursing through me doesn’t work in
favor of manners. Robert grabs my empty cup just as the wind
knocks it over, and begins to refill it. I get the feeling he’s
trying to keep himself busy to avoid whatever dramatic or
awkward situation lies ahead.
“Can I talk to you?” Lillian asks.
“What is there for us to talk about? Everything is pretty
clear to me.” I take a big gulp from my cup, letting the cold
wine fill my mouth.
Unexpectedly, she doesn’t respond to my attitude. She just
walks over to us and says flatly, “I’m gay.”
What? If Robert’s clear blue eyes hadn’t been focused on
me, I’d have spit the wine back into my cup. I look from him
to her and swallow slowly.
“It’s true. I have a girlfriend. Hardin and I are only friends.”
She frowns. “If you would even call us that.”
I know that look. He must have just told her off.
“Then why . . .” I start. Is she being honest? “But you guys
were all over each other.”
“No, he was being a little . . . touchy-feely, I guess you’d
say, like when he put his arm around my chair. But he was
only doing it to make you jealous.”
“Why would he do that? On purpose?” I ask. But I know
the answer: to hurt me, of course.
“I told him to tell you. I’m sorry if you thought something
was going on between us. It’s not. I’m in a relationship, with a
girl.”
I roll my eyes and hold my cup out to Robert for more
wine. “You seemed pretty comfortable going along with it,” I
remark harshly.
With honest, pleading eyes, she says, “That wasn’t my
intention. I wasn’t really paying attention to what he was
doing. I’m really sorry if you were hurt in all this.”
I’m fumbling for reasons to tell this girl off, but I can’t
come up with any. Lillian being gay is a huge relief to me, and
I wish that I’d known sooner, but it really doesn’t change
much with Hardin. If anything, it makes his behavior worse,
because he was purposely trying to make me jealous and then
upped the ante by saying the most hateful things he could
think of to me. Watching him flirt with her didn’t hurt nearly
as bad as hearing him tell me that he didn’t love me.
Robert fills my glass, and I take a small sip while watching
Lillian. “So what changed your mind and made you tell me?
He went off on you, didn’t he?”
She half smiles, then sits down at the table with us. “Yeah,
he did.”
“He’s good at that,” I say and she nods. I can tell she’s
slightly nervous, and I keep reminding myself that she isn’t the
problem here, Hardin is.
“Do you have any more cups?” I ask Robert, and he nods,
giving me a proud smile. My stomach flutters lightly; from the
wine, I’m sure.
“Not in my pocket, but I can grab another from inside,” he
offers politely. “We should go inside, anyway; your lips are
turning blue.”
I look up at him, and my gaze goes to his lips. They’re full
and pink; they look so soft. Why am I staring at his lips? This
is what wine does to me. I want to be staring at Hardin’s lips,
but he only uses them to yell at me lately, it seems.
“Is he inside?” I ask Lillian, and she shakes her head.
“Okay, let’s go in, then. I have to save Landon from that table,
anyway, especially from that Max guy,” I say without
thinking, then quickly look at Lillian. “Shit, sorry,”
She surprises me by laughing. “It’s fine, trust me. I know
my dad’s an asshole.”
I don’t respond. She may not be a threat to my relationship
with Hardin, but that doesn’t mean that I like her, even if she
does seem kind of sweet.
“Are we going inside or . . .” Robert rocks on the heels of
his black dress shoes.
“Yeah.” I gulp down the rest of my wine and head inside.
“I’ll get Landon. Are you sure you can drink here? In your
uniform?” I ask my new friend. I don’t want him to get in
trouble. My head is fuzzy, and the thought of him getting
arrested by his father makes me giggle.
“What?” he asks, his eyes searching my face.
“Nothing,” I lie.
Heading inside, Lillian and I walk over to our party’s table.
I put my hands on the back of Landon’s chair, and he turns to
look up at me.
“You okay?” he asks quietly while Lillian speaks to her
parents.
I shrug. “Yeah, sort of.” I wouldn’t be if I wasn’t borderline
drunk from downing several cups of wine. “Do you want to
hang out with us? We’re going to hang out here and have some
wine . . . some more wine.” I smile.
“Who? Her, too?” Landon glances across the table at
Lillian.
“Yeah, she’s . . . well, she’s okay.” I don’t want to blurt out
the girl’s personal business in front of everyone.
“I told Ken that I’d watch the game with them at Max’s
cabin, but if you want me to stay here, I will.”
“No . . .” I do want him to stay, but I don’t want him to alter
his plans for me. “It’s okay. I just thought you might want to
get away from them,” I whisper, and he smiles.
“I do, but Ken’s excited for me to come because Max likes
the opposing team. I think he thinks it’ll be funny to watch us
give each other crap or something.” Then he leans in closer so
only I can hear him. “Are you sure about hanging out with that
guy? He seems nice, but Hardin will probably try to murder
him.”
“I think he can hold his own,” I assure him. “Have fun
watching the game.” I lean down and press my lips against
Landon’s cheek.
I jerk away quickly and cover my mouth. “I’m sorry. I have
no idea why . . .”
“It’s okay.” Landon laughs.
I look around the table and I’m relieved to see that
everyone seems to be in engaged in conversation. Thankfully
my embarrassing show of affection went unnoticed.
“Be careful, okay, Tessa? And call me if you need me.”
“I will. And if you get bored, come back here.”
“Will do.” He smiles. I know he won’t get bored watching
the game with Ken. He loves spending time with the only
father figure in his life, something that Hardin doesn’t share
the same enthusiasm for.
“Dad, I’m an adult,” I hear Lillian huff from across the
table.
Max shakes his head once with authority. “There is
absolutely no need for you to be out running the streets here;
you’ll go back to the cabin with us. That’s final.” It’s obvious
that he’s one of those men who love to have complete control
over everyone in his life. The nasty smirk on his hard face
confirms it.
“Fine,” his frustrated daughter responds. She looks to her
mother, but the woman stays silent. If I had another glass of
wine, I would call the jerk out, but I don’t want to upset Ken
and Karen.
“Tessa, are you coming back with us?” Karen asks.
“No, I’m going to stay here for a little while, if that’s
okay?” I hope she doesn’t mind. I watch as she looks to Lillian
and then behind me to where Robert stands in the distance. I
get the feeling she has no clue about Lillian’s sexual
orientation, and she’s annoyed by the way Hardin was
behaving with her. I love Karen.
“That’s fine with us; you have fun.” She smiles
approvingly.
“Okay.” I return her smile and walk away from the table
without saying goodbye to Max and his wife.
“We’re good to go; she’s not allowed to stay,” I tell Robert
when I reach him.
“Not allowed?”
“Her father is a jerk. I’m sort of glad, though, because I’m
not sure how I feel about her. She reminds me of someone. I
can’t quite put my finger on who . . .” I let the thought trail off
as I follow Robert to an empty section of the restaurant. A few
tables sit in the closed-off area, bare save for unlit votive
candles and salt and pepper shakers.
As we sit, Zed’s mutilated face flashes through my mind. I
ask Robert, “Are you sure you’re okay with hanging out with
me? Hardin may come back, and he has a tendency to assault
people . . .”
Robert pulls a chair out for me and laughs. “I’m sure,” he
answers.
Taking the seat across from me, he refills our Styrofoam
cups with white wine, and we toast, the cups’ soft material
bending slightly and lacking that clink of glassware. Nice and
cozy, unlike the rest of this hard-edged restaurant.
chapter forty-two
HARDIN
I’ve called every damn taxi company between here and
college trying to get a ride back home. No one accepted, of
course, because of the distance. I could take a bus, but public
transportation really isn’t my thing. I remember the way I used
to cringe when Steph would mention Tessa taking the bus to
the mall or to Target. Even when I disliked Tessa . . . well,
when I thought I did . . . I’d still panic at the thought of her
sitting alone on the bus with a bunch of fucking creeps.
Everything has changed since then, since those days when
I’d tease and taunt Tessa just to get a rise out of her. Her face
when I left her on the balcony of the restaurant . . . maybe it
hasn’t changed at all. I haven’t changed.
I’m torturing the girl I love. That’s exactly what I’m doing,
and I can’t seem to stop. This isn’t all my fault, though—it’s
her fault, too. She keeps pushing me to go to Seattle, and I’ve
made it clear that I’m not giving in on that. Instead of battling
me, she should just pack her shit and come to England with
me. I’m not staying here whether I’m expelled or not—I’m
bored in America, and it’s been nothing but shit for me. I’m
sick of seeing my dad all the time; I’m sick of everything here.
“Watch where you’re going, dick,” a female voice says in
the darkness, startling me.
I sidestep the figure before I run into her. “You watch
where you’re going,” I fire back, without stopping. Why the
hell is this chick out here in front of Max’s cabin, anyway?
“Excuse me?” she says, and I turn around to look at her just
as the motion-sensor light clicks on from the cabin’s porch. I
get a good look at her: brown skin, curly hair, ripped jeans,
biker boots.
“Let me guess: Riley, right?” I roll my eyes at the girl in
front of me.
She puts a hand on her hip. “And who the hell are you?”
“Yep, Riley. If you’re looking for Lillian, she isn’t here.”
“Where is she? And how do you know that I’m looking for
her?” the feisty girl challenges.
“Because I just fucked her.”
She tenses up, lowering her head so darkness overtakes her
features. “What did you just say?” she says and steps forward.
I tilt my head to the side and stare at her. “Christ, I’m just
fucking with you. She’s at the restaurant down the road with
her parents.”
Riley raises her head and stops. “Okay, and how do you
know her?”
“Met her yesterday. Her dad went to college with mine, I
guess. Does she know you’re here?”
“No, I’ve been trying to get hold of her,” she says and
gestures at the woods surrounding us. “But since she’s out in
the middle of fucking nowhere, she hasn’t been answering.
Probably her shitsucker of a dad keeping her from talking.”
I sigh. “Yeah, he is that. Is he even going to let you see
her?”
She scowls at me. “Aren’t you nosy as hell?” But then she
smirks proudly. “Yeah, he will. He’s a dick, but he’s even more
of a pussy, and he’s afraid of me.”
Headlights flash out in the darkness, and I step onto the
grass. “That’s them,” I tell her.
Shortly, the car pulls into the driveway and comes to a halt.
Lillian practically jumps out the door and into Riley’s arms.
“How did you get here?” she practically squeals.
“I drove,” her girlfriend answers drily.
“How did you find me? I haven’t had service all week.”
She nuzzles into her girlfriend’s neck, and I watch as Riley’s
tough-girl exterior begins to crack. Her hand moves up and
down against Lillian’s back lovingly.
“It’s a small place, baby. It wasn’t too hard.” She pulls back
a little to look at Lillian’s face. “Is your dad going to give me
shit for coming?”
“No. Well, maybe. But you know he won’t make you
leave.”
I force out a cough, feeling awkward standing there
watching this reunion. “Okay, well, I’m going to go,” I say and
begin to walk off.
“Bye,” Riley says. Lillian doesn’t say anything.
After a few minutes, I reach the gate to my father’s cabin
and walk up the driveway. Tessa will be here any minute, and I
want to be inside before the SUV pulls into the driveway.
She’ll be crying, I’m sure, and I’ll have to come up with an
apology to make her stop and listen to me.
I barely make it to the porch when Karen and Lillian’s
mother step out of the car. “Where is everyone else?” I ask her,
my eyes searching for Tess.
“Oh, well, your dad and Landon rode back with Max to
watch some game on television.”
“Where’s Tessa?” Panic rises in my chest.
“She’s back at the restaurant.”
“What?” What the fuck. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.
“She’s with him, isn’t she?” I ask the two women, even
though I already know the answer. She’s with the blond
asshole with the sheriff for a father.
“Yeah, she is,” Karen says, and if I wasn’t stuck out in the
middle of nowhere with her, I’d cuss her out for the small
smile she’s trying to hide.
chapter forty-three
TESSA
So that’s basically the story of my life,” Robert ends with a
grin. His smile is warm and honest—almost childlike, but in
the most endearing way.
“That was . . . interesting.” I reach for the wine bottle on
the table and lift it to fill my glass. Nothing comes out.
“Liar,” he teases, and I burst into wine-induced giggles. His
life story was short and sweet. Not plain really, not exciting,
just normal. He grew up with both parents: his mother the
schoolteacher, his father the sheriff. After graduating from the
small college two towns away, he decided to go to medical
school. He’s only working here now because he’s on the wait
list to get into the medical program at the University of
Washington. Well, that and he makes pretty good money
working at the most expensive restaurant around.
“You should have gone to WCU instead,” I tell him, and he
shakes his head. He stands up from the table and puts his index
finger in the air to pause our conversation. I sit back in the
chair while I wait for him to return. I rest my head against the
wooden chair and look up. The ceiling in this small section is
painted with clouds, castles, and cherubs. The figure directly
above me is sleeping, with pink staining her cheeks and blond
curly hair topping her head. Her small white wings lay almost
flat in slumber. Next to her, a boy—at least I assume it’s a boy
—stares at her, watching her with his black wings spread
behind him.
Hardin.
“No way,” Robert says suddenly, interrupting my thoughts.
“Even if I wanted to, they don’t offer the program I need. Plus,
the medical program is part of the main campus in Seattle. At
WCU, your Seattle campus is much smaller.” When I lift my
head up, I see he has a new bottle of wine in his hands.
“Have you been there? To the campus?” I ask him, eager to
learn more about my new location. I’m even more eager to
stop staring at creepy images of baby angels on the ceiling.
“Yeah, only once. It’s small but it’s nice.”
“I’m supposed to be there on Monday, and I have nowhere
to live.” I laugh. I know my poor planning shouldn’t be funny,
but right now it feels that way.
“This Monday? As in today is Thursday and Monday is
right around the corner?”
“Yep.” I nod.
“What about the dorms?” he asks as he uncorks the bottle.
Living in the dorms never crossed my mind, not even once.
I had assumed . . . well, hoped . . . that Hardin would be
accompanying me, so they weren’t on my radar.
“I don’t want to live on campus, especially now that I know
how it feels to live on my own.”
He nods and starts pouring. “True, once you get a taste of
freedom, you can’t go back.”
“So true. If Hardin went to Seattle . . .” I stop myself.
“Never mind.”
“So were you guys planning on trying the long-distance
thing?”
“No, it would never work,” I say, feeling an ache rise in my
chest. “The short-distance thing barely even works for us.” I
need to change the subject before I end up a blubbering mess.
“Blubbering,” what a strange word.
“Blubbering,” I say while pinching my lips between my
thumb and index finger.
“Entertaining yourself?” Robert smiles and places a full cup
of wine before me. I nod, still laughing. “I have to say, this is
the most fun I’ve had at work in a while.”
“Me, too,” I agree. “Well, if I worked here.” I’m making no
sense at all. “I don’t drink often—well, more now than I ever
did before—but not enough to have built a tolerance, so I get
drunk pret-ty fast,” I sing, lifting my cup in front of my face.
“I’m the same. I’m not much of a drinker, but when a
beautiful girl is having a bad night, I make an exception,” he
says bravely, but then flushes terribly. “I just meant . . .
ahh . . .” He covers his face with his hands. “I don’t seem to
have a filter around you.”
I reach across the table and lower his hands from his face;
he flinches slightly, and when he looks up at me his blue eyes
are so clear.
“It’s like I can tell what you’re thinking,” I say aloud,
without a thought.
“Maybe you can,” he whispers in response, and his tongue
darts out to wet his lips.
I know he wants to kiss me; I can read it on his face. I can
see it in his honest eyes. Hardin’s eyes are so guarded all the
time I have to struggle to be able to read him, and even then
I’ve never been able to read him the way I want to, the way I
need to. I lean closer to Robert, the small table still between us
as he leans forward, too.
“If I didn’t love him so much, I’d kiss you,” I quietly say,
not pulling back but not moving any closer. As drunk as I am,
and as angry as I am at Hardin, I can’t do it. I can’t kiss this
other guy. I want to, but I can’t.
The left corner of his mouth lifts into a crooked smile.
“And if I didn’t know how much you love him, I’d let you.”
“Okay . . .” I’m not sure what else to say, and I’m drunk
and awkward, and I don’t know how to act around anyone
other than Hardin and Zed, but in a way those two are similar.
Robert isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met. Except Landon.
Landon is sweet and kind, and my mind is racing from the
almost-kiss with someone who is not Hardin.
“I’m sorry.” I sit back down on the chair, and he does the
same.
“Don’t be. I’d much rather you not kiss me than kiss me
and regret it.”
“You’re strange,” I tell him. I wish I’d chosen a different
word, but it’s too late now. “In a good way,” I correct myself.
“So are you.” He chuckles. “When I first saw you in that
dress, I thought you were going to be some snobby rich girl
with no personality at all.”
“Well, sorry. I’m surely not rich.” I laugh.
“Or snobby,” he adds.
“My personality isn’t too bad.” I shrug.
“It will do,” he teases with a smile.
“You’re awfully nice.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know.” I start poking at my cup. “Sorry, I know I
sound like an idiot.”
He looks puzzled for a moment, then says, “You don’t
sound like an idiot. And you don’t have to keep apologizing.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. I’m vaguely aware that I have
now picked apart the rim of the Styrofoam cup; small pieces of
white litter the table in front of me.
“You keep apologizing for everything you say. You’ve said
‘sorry’ at least ten times in the last hour. You haven’t done
anything wrong, so you don’t have anything to apologize for.”
I’m embarrassed by his words, but his eyes are so kind and
his voice doesn’t hold even a sliver of annoyance or judgment.
“I’m sorry . . .” I say again reflexively. “See! I don’t know
why I do that.” I smooth a loose lock of hair behind my ear.
“I can guess, but I won’t. Just know that you shouldn’t have
to,” he states simply.
I take a deep breath and let it out. It’s relaxing to have a
conversation with someone without worrying about upsetting
them the entire time.
“Anyway, tell me more about your new job in Seattle,” he
says, and I’m thankful for the subject change.
chapter forty-four
HARDIN
Where do you think I’m going?” I yell up the walk at Karen,
tossing my hands in the air out of frustration.
She walks partway back down the porch steps, then says, “I
don’t mean to butt in, Hardin, but don’t you think you should
leave her be . . . for once? I really don’t want to upset you, but
I don’t think anything good will come out of you going down
there and causing a scene. I know you want to see her, but—”
“You don’t know anything,” I snap, and my father’s wife
pulls her head back a little.
“I’m sorry, Hardin, but I think you need to leave her be for
tonight,” she says, like she’s my mother.
“Oh, why? So she can fucking cheat on me?” Frustrated
fingers tug at the roots of my hair. Tessa’s already had one
glass—one and a half glasses, to be exact—at dinner, and Lord
knows she can’t handle alcohol.
“If that’s what you think of her . . .” Karen begins but stops
herself. “Never mind, go on, then—like always.” She looks at
Max’s wife once, then adjusts her knee-length dress. “Just be
careful, dear,” she says with a forced smile and goes up the
stairs with her friend.
That headache gone, I continue on with my original plan
and march toward the restaurant. I’ll drag Tessa out of there—
not literally, of course, but she will come with me. This whole
thing is bullshit, and it’s all because I forgot to put on a
fucking condom. That’s what started this whole spiraling mess
we’re in. I could have called Sandra earlier and corrected the
apartment shit, or I could have found Tessa another place to
live . . . but that wouldn’t work either. Seattle can’t happen.
It’s taking longer to convince Tessa than I imagined it would,
and now it’s all even more complicated.
I’m still shocked that she didn’t get out of the car with
Karen and whatever Lillian’s mum’s name is. I was positive
that she’d be upset and ready to talk to me. It’s that waiter—
what kind of influence did he manage to have on her that
would make her stay at the restaurant instead of coming with
me? What did she see in him?
Needing to collect my thoughts for a minute, I stop and sit
down on one of the large rocks decorating the edge of the
yard. Maybe barging in there isn’t the best idea. Maybe I
should get Landon to go inside and get her. She listens to him
much more than she does me. But then I curse at my stupid
idea because I know he won’t go for it, and, taking his mum’s
side, he’ll make me look weak and tell me to leave her alone.
I can’t, though. Sitting on this cold-ass rock for twenty
minutes has made it worse, not better. All I can think about is
the way she stepped back away from me on the deck and how
she was so carefree laughing with him.
What will I say to her? He seems like the kind of asshole
who’ll try to stop me from making her leave. I won’t have to
hit him; if I yell enough, she’ll come with me to avoid a fight.
I hope. She hasn’t done what I predicted so far tonight.
This is all so juvenile: my behavior, my manipulation of her
feelings. I know it—I just don’t know what to do about it. I
love her—fuck, do I love that girl. But I’m running out of
ways to keep her close to me.
In reality it seems like you have her trapped, and that’s why
she won’t leave you: not because she loves you, but because
you’ve made her feel that she can’t be without you.
Lillian’s words play like a broken record through my mind
as I get up and head past the end of the driveway. It’s cold as
fuck outside now, and this stupid shirt is too thin. Tessa didn’t
bring a jacket to dinner with her, and that dress—that dress—
is skimpy and she’ll definitely be cold. I should probably grab
her a jacket . . .
What if he offers her his jacket? Jealousy courses through
me, and I ball my fists at the thought.
. . . you have her trapped, and that’s why she won’t leave
you: not because she loves you . . .
Fucking Tessa Number Two and her bullshit psychotherapy.
She doesn’t even know what she’s talking about. Tessa does
love me. I see it in her blue-gray eyes every time she looks at
me. I feel it on her fingertips as she traces over the ink stained
into my skin. I feel it when her lips touch mine. I know the
difference between love and being trapped, between love and
being addicted.
I swallow the slight panic that threatens to overtake me
again. She loves me. She does. Tessa loves me. If she didn’t, I
wouldn’t know how to handle it. I couldn’t. I need her to love
me and be there for me. I’ve never let anyone get as close to
me as she is; she’s the only person that I know will always
love me unconditionally. Even my mum gets sick of my shit
sometimes, but Tessa always forgives me, and no matter what
I do she’s always there for me when I need her. That stubborn,
obnoxious, uncompromising girl is my entire world.
“What are you doing, creep?” I hear from the darkness.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I groan and turn
to find Riley walking down the driveway of Max’s cabin. I
need to be paying more attention. I didn’t even notice her
coming toward me.
“You’re the one out here stalking the damn driveway,” she
fires back.
“Where’s Lillian?”
“Not your concern. Where’s Tessa?” she says with a smirk.
Lillian must have told her about our fight. Lovely.
“Not your concern. Why are you out here?”
“Why are you?” Riley clearly has an attitude problem.
“Do you have to be such a bitch?”
She nods exaggeratedly a few times. “Yeah. I do, actually.”
I figured she’d chew my head off for calling her a bitch, but
she doesn’t seem to mind; I’m sure she knows she is. “And
I’m out here because Lillian just fell asleep. And between her
dad, your dad, and your dorky-ass brother, I’m ready to puke.”
“So what, you thought you’d walk around in the dark in the
middle of February?”
“I’m wearing a coat.” She tugs at the bottom of her garment
to prove her point. “I’m going to find that bar I passed while I
was driving up here.”
“Why don’t you drive, then?”
“Because I want to drink. And do I look like someone who
wants to spend their weekend in jail?” she scoffs, walking past
me. She looks back without stopping. “Where’re you going?”
“To get Tessa; she’s hanging out with . . . never mind.” I’m
sick of telling people my fucking business.
Now Riley does stop. “You’re an asshole for not telling her
that Lil is gay.”
“Of course she told you,” I say.
“She tells me everything. That was a major dick move.”
“It’s a long story.”
“You won’t move to Seattle with Tessa, and now”—she
flips her hair over her shoulder—“she’s probably giving that
blond dude a blow job in the bathroom of—”
I step toward her, anger boiling in my veins. “Shut the fuck
up. Now. Don’t you fucking dare say shit like that to me.” I
have to remember that even though she has a mouth like mine,
she is a female and I would never take it there.
Unfazed by my outburst, she replies calmly, “Don’t like
that much, do you? Maybe you’d do best to remember that
next time you make some snarky-ass comment about fucking
my girlfriend.”
My breathing falters, deep and out of control. I can’t stop
thinking about Tessa’s full lips touching him. I tug at my hair
again and turn in a circle.
“It’s driving you crazy, isn’t it? Her being with him?”
“You really need to stop taunting me,” I warn her, and she
shrugs.
“I know it is. Look, I probably shouldn’t have said that, but
you were a dick first, remember?” When I don’t respond, she
continues. “Let’s call a truce here. I’ll buy you a drink, and
you can cry over Tessa while I brag about how good Lillian is
with her tongue.” She walks over to me and tugs at my sleeve,
trying to drag me across the street. I can see the cheesy
multicolored lantern lights on top of the tin roof of the small
bar from here.
I jerk my arm away from her. “I need to get Tessa.”
“One drink, and then I’ll come with you as backup.” Riley’s
words mimic my thoughts from a few minutes ago.
“Why? Why do you want to hang out with me?” I make eye
contact with her, and she shrugs again.
“I don’t, really. But I’m bored, and you’re out here.
Besides, Lil seems to care about you for some reason that I
don’t get.” She runs her eyes up and down my body. “I really
don’t get it, but she likes you, as a friend,” Riley says, with as
much emphasis on the word “friend” as possible. “So yeah, I
would like to impress her by pretending that I give a shit about
your doomed relationship.”
“Doomed?” I begin to follow her down the road.
“Out of all the a shit that I just said, you chose that to
comment on?” She shakes her head. “You’re worse than me.”
She laughs and I stay quiet. The obnoxious girl grabs hold
of my shirt again and leads me down the road. I’m too busy
thinking to push her off.
How can she think we are doomed when she doesn’t even
know me, know us?
We aren’t doomed.
I know we aren’t. I’m damned, but she’s not. She will save
me. She always does.
chapter forty-five
TESSA
Yikes, it dropped at least ten degrees out here,” Robert says to
me as we step out the door. The cold air smacks me, and I
wrap my arms around myself trying to stay warm. He looks
over at me with a little frown. “I wish I had a jacket to offer
you . . . I also wish I could offer to drive you back, but I’ve
been drinking.” With a playfully horrified look, he adds,
“Guess I’m not very gentlemanly tonight.”
“It’s okay, really,” I say with a smile. “I’m pretty drunk, so
I’m warm . . . That makes no sense.” I giggle and follow him
down the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. “Although, I
should have worn different shoes.”
“We could trade?” he jokes.
I gently push against his shoulder, and he smiles for what
has to be the hundredth time tonight. “Your shoes look more
comfortable than Hardin’s; his boots are so heavy and he
always leaves them by the door, so I . . . never mind.”
Embarrassed by what I just started talking about, I shake my
head to stop myself.
“I’m more of a sneaker guy,” Robert says, letting me know
it’s okay.
“Me, too. Well, not a guy.” Again I laugh. My head is
swimming from the wine, and my mouth seems to let out
every single thought that crosses my mind, nonsensical and all.
“Do you know which way the cabins are?”
He reaches over to steady me as I almost walk into a
parking block. “Which cabins? This whole town is full of
them.”
“Um, well, there’s a street with a small sign and then like
three or four more cabins, then another street?” I try to
remember the drive to the restaurant from Ken and Karen’s
place, but none of it makes sense.
“That doesn’t give me much to go on”—he chuckles—“but
we can walk until we find it?”
“Okay, but if we don’t find it within twenty minutes, I’m
going to a hotel.” I groan, dreading the walk and the
discussion Hardin and I are sure to have when I arrive. And by
“discussion,” I mean full-on, knock-down, drag-out verbal
brawl. Especially when he finds out that I’ve been drinking
with Robert.
Suddenly I turn to look at him as we walk through the dark.
“Do you ever get sick of people telling you what to do all the
time?”
“No one really does, but if they did, I would.”
“You’re lucky. I feel like someone’s always telling me what
to do, where to go, who to talk to, where to live.” I let out a
breath and watch it turn to steam in the cold air. “It’s getting
on my nerves.”
“I’m sure it is.”
I look up at the stars for a moment. “I want to do something
about it, but I just don’t know what that is.”
“Maybe Seattle will help you.”
“Maybe . . . I want to do something now, though, like run
away or cuss someone out.”
“Cuss someone out?” He laughs and halts to bend down to
lace his shoe. I stop walking a few feet ahead of him and look
around at my surroundings. Now that my mind is racing with
all the possibilities of potential reckless behaviors, I can’t stop
it.
“Yeah, cuss out someone in particular.”
“You probably should take it slow. I know cussing someone
out is pretty wild and all, but maybe start with something a
little lighter,” he says. It takes me a moment to comprehend
that he’s teasing me, but once I do, I see the humor in it.
“I mean it, though. Right now I just feel like doing
something . . . crazy?” I pull my top lip between my teeth,
pondering the idea.
“It’s the wine—it’s pretty strong, and you drank a load in a
short amount of time.”
We both laugh again and I can’t seem to stop. The only
things that bring me back to normalcy are the canteen-style
lanterns hanging from a small building nearby.
“That’s our bar,” Robert informs me with a nod toward it.
“It’s so small!” I exclaim.
“Well, it doesn’t have to be huge when it’s the only one in
the town. It’s a load of fun. The bartenders dance on the bar
and everything.”
“Like Coyote Ugly?”
His smile brightens. “Yes, only these women are all over
forty and have a bit more clothing on.”
His smile is infectious, and I know what we’re doing next.
chapter forty-six
HARDIN
No, I told you one drink. I meant one drink.” I roll my eyes
and push the ice around the empty glass with my finger.
“Whatever.” She waves down the bartender and orders two
more drinks.
“I said I didn’t—”
“No one said it’s for you,” she says with a condescending
look. “Sometimes a girl needs a backup.”
“Well, you have fun. I’m going to get Tessa now.” I get up
from the bar stool, but she grabs hold of my shirt. Again.
“Stop touching me.”
“Dude, stop being a dick. I said I would come; just let me
finish these drinks. Do you even know what you’re going to
say to her, or are you planning to go all caveman style?”
“No.” I sit back down. I really haven’t thought about what
it is I’m going to say. I don’t need to say anything except Let’s
fucking go. “What would you say?” I dare to ask.
“Well, first of all”—she pauses to give the bartender two
fives and pulls the glasses near her—“Lillian wouldn’t be
down at some restaurant with another girl . . . or guy, without
me.” She takes a big drink out of one glass and looks at me. “I
would have burned that shit to the ground already.”
I really don’t like her tone much. “Yet you tell me to come
and have a drink before I go?”
She shrugs. “I didn’t say my way was right. I’m just
saying.”
“This is bullshit. You are bullshit. I’m going.”
As I take a couple steps toward the door, the headache-
inducing country music playing in the small bar gradually gets
louder and louder, and I know what’s coming. I shouldn’t have
even come to this shitty bar in the first place. I should’ve gone
straight to find Tessa instead. The patrons inside all start
cheering, and I turn to see two of the middle-aged bartenders
climb onto the bar top.
This is so damn awkward. Entertaining, but still fucking
weird.
“You’re going to miss the show!” Riley cackles.
I’m about to say something, but I hear a sound behind me,
and once again, I sense what’s coming. As I turn, my mouth
dries and my blood begins to boil instantly. Because as I do,
Tessa stumbles in through the door of the little roadhouse.
With him.
Rather than rushing him like I’d like to do, I step back to
the bar and say to the back of Riley’s head, “She’s here, with
him. That’s her.”
Riley takes her eyes off the old women on the bar and
turns. Her jaw drops. “Holy shit, she’s hot.”
I glare at her. “Stop. Don’t look at her like that.”
“Lillian said she was pretty, but, fuck, look at her big ti—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.” I stare at Tessa. She is fucking
hot, I know this, but more importantly she’s drunk and she’s
laughing as she navigates through the high-topped tables. She
chooses an empty one close to the bathroom and takes a seat.
“I’m going over there,” I tell Riley. I don’t have a fucking
clue why I’m telling her anything, but part of me sort of wants
to know what she’d do if she were in my shoes. I know Tessa
is upset with me for a whole list of shit, and I don’t exactly
want to add anything else to it. She doesn’t have any right to
be mad at me, anyway—she’s the one hanging out with a
random-ass guy from dinner, and now she comes stumbling in
here drunk and laughing. With him.
“Why don’t you just wait . . . you know, watch her for a
little bit,” Riley suggests.
“What a fucking stupid idea—why would I watch her hang
all over that douche bag? She’s mine, and . . .”
Riley looks up at me with curious eyes. “Does she throw a
fit when you call her yours?”
“No. She likes it, I think.” At least she once told me she
did: “Yours, Hardin, yours,” she moaned into my neck as I
shifted my hips, burying myself deeper inside of her.
“Lill gets so pissed off when I say that. She thinks I’m
claiming her as property or something,” Riley says next to me,
but all I can focus on is Tessa. The way she gathers her long
hair in one hand and moves it to one shoulder. My anger is
rising, my annoyance is growing, and my focus is blurring.
How does she not know that I’m here? I can always tell when
she enters a room; it’s like the air changes and my body can
literally feel hers coming near. She’s too busy paying attention
to him; he’s probably telling her the proper way to pour water
into a damn glass.
Still looking at my girl, I say, “Well, Tess is mine, so I don’t
care what she thinks about being claimed.”
“Spoken like a true asshole,” Riley says and looks over at
Tessa. “You have to compromise, though. If she’s anything
like Lillian, she’ll get sick of it and you’ll end up with an
ultimatum.”
“What?” I tear my eyes away from Tessa for a moment, and
it’s torture.
“Lillian got sick of my shit and left me. She”—she lifts her
glass toward Tessa—“will do the same thing if you don’t listen
to what she wants sometimes.”
It’s amazing how much cooler Lillian is than her girlfriend.
“Okay, you don’t know anything about our relationship, so
you don’t know what you’re talking about.” I look back at
Tessa, who is now sitting alone at the table fiddling with a
stray lock of hair and moving her shoulders to the music. After
a second, I locate her waiter friend at the end of the bar, and
my nerves calm slightly because of the distance between them.
“Look, man,” Riley says. “I don’t have to know the details.
I’ve spent the last . . . almost hour with you. I know that
you’re a dumb-ass and she’s a needy . . .” When I open my
mouth to cuss her out, she just continues: “Lillian is, too, so
don’t get all pissy over it. She’s needy, and you know it. But
you know what the best part about having a needy girlfriend
is?” She gives a wicked smile. “Besides the frequent sex, of
course . . .”
“Get to the point.” I roll my eyes and look back to Tessa.
Her cheeks are red and her eyes are wide in amusement as she
watches the women finishing up their dance on the bar. Any
second she’ll see me standing here.
“The best part is that they need us, just not in the way you
expect them to need you, though. They need us to be there for
them sometimes, too. Lillian was always so caught up in
trying to save . . . me or whatever the hell she was doing . . .
that her needs weren’t being met. I mean, I didn’t even
acknowledge her birthday. I didn’t do shit for her. I thought I
was, though, because I was around her and sometimes telling
her that I love her, but it wasn’t enough.”
An unwelcome chill travels down my spine. I watch as
Riley finishes the rest of her first drink. “But she’s with you
now, right?”
“Yeah, but only because I showed her that she can depend
on me and that I’m not the same bitch I was when she met
me.” She looks over at Tessa, then back to me. “You know that
saying all the stupid girls are always posting online? I think
it’s like, ‘While you’re making . . . if you don’t’ . . . fuck. I
can’t remember, but basically it says treat your girl well or
someone else will.”
“I don’t treat her bad.” Not all the time, at least.
She barks out a disbelieving little laugh. “Dude, just own it.
Look, I’m no saint. I still don’t treat Lillian the way I should,
but I own that shit. You are in some hard-core denial if you’re
sitting here thinking you don’t treat her like shit—if you
didn’t, she wouldn’t be sitting over there with that douche,
who happens to be the exact opposite of you and pretty damn
hot.”
I can’t even argue with her; she’s right, for the most part. I
don’t treat Tessa like shit all the time, only when she does
something to get me going. Like right now.
And earlier.
“She’s looking,” Riley tells me, and my blood runs cold. I
turn my head slowly in Tessa’s direction.
Her eyes are focused on mine—blazing—and I swear I see
a hint of red in them as she looks at Riley and then back to me.
She doesn’t move, she doesn’t even blink. Her stare turns from
surprised to primal in an instant, and I’m taken aback by the
murderous glare directed our way.
“She’s so pissed.” Riley laughs next to me, and it takes
everything in me not to pour her backup drink over her head.
Instead, I mumble, “Shut up,” grab the drink, and walk
toward Tessa.
Her douchey waiter is still at the end of the bar by the time
I reach her.
“Whoa, I never thought I’d find you here, in a bar, drinking
with another girl. Surprise, surprise,” she quips with a
sarcastic smile.
“Why are you here?” I ask, stepping closer to her.
She leans away. “Why are you?”
“Tessa,” I warn, and she rolls her eyes.
“Not tonight, Hardin, not happening.” She climbs off of the
tall chair and pulls her dress down.
“Don’t walk away from me.” My words come out as a
command, but I know they’re really a plea. I reach for her arm,
but she pulls away.
“Why not? That’s what you always do to me.” She glares at
Riley again. “We’re both here with other people.”
I shake my head. “Fuck, no. That’s Lillian’s girlfriend.”
Her shoulders instantly relax. “Oh.” She looks into my eyes
and pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.
“We need to leave now.”
“So go.”
“You and I,” I clarify.
“I’m not going anywhere except somewhere fun, more fun
than this place, since you’re here and you’re always stopping
my fun. You’re like the fun police.” She smiles at her own
stupid joke and continues. “That’s exactly what you are!
You’re the fun police. I should really get you a badge made
and you can wear it all around—you know, to stop everyone’s
fun,” she rambles and bursts into full-on giggles.
Christ, she’s fucking wasted.
“How much did you drink?” I yell over the music. I thought
it was going to die down, but apparently the elderly dancers
have been goaded into an encore.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. A few, and this one, too.” She
takes the cup from my hand before I can stop her, sets it on the
table, and hoists herself back onto the chair.
“Don’t drink that. You’re obviously smashed.”
“What’s that sound?” She puts her hand to her ear. “Is that
the siren of the fun police I hear? Wah, wah, wah.” For a
second she pouts like a child, then laughs. “Go away if you’re
going to be a fun-sucker.” Tessa lifts the glass to her mouth
and takes three large gulps. She’s swallowed half the drink in
seconds.
“You’re going to get sick,” I say.
“Blah, blah, blah,” she mocks, tilting her head back and
forth with each word. She looks past me, and a small smirk
plays on her lips. “You know Robert, right?”
I look to my side to find the asshole is standing next to me
with a drink in each hand.
“Nice to see you again,” Robert says, then half smiles. His
eyes are bloodshot. He’s drunk, too.
Did he take advantage of her? Did he kiss her?
I take a deep breath. His father is the sheriff. His father is
the sheriff. His father is the sheriff.
His father is the fucking sheriff of this shithole of a town.
I look back at Tessa and say over my shoulder, “Go away.”
Tessa rolls her eyes. I forgot how ballsy she becomes when
she has liquor in her veins. “Don’t go,” she says, challenging
me, and he sits down at the table. “Don’t you have company to
entertain?” she taunts.
“No, I don’t. Let’s go home.” I’m barely controlling my
temper. If this were any other night, Robert’s face would be
imprinted on the table by now.
“That cabin isn’t home; we’re hours from home.” She
finishes off the drink she stole from me. Then she gives me a
look that somehow manages to mix loathing, drunk-flippancy,
and indifference. “Actually, as of Monday, I don’t have a home
anyway, thanks to you.”
chapter forty-seven
TESSA
Hardin’s nostrils flare as he tries to control his temper. I
glance over at Robert, who looks slightly uncomfortable,
though not in the least bit intimidated by Hardin.
“If you’re purposely trying to make me angry, it’s
working,” Hardin says.
“I’m not, I just don’t want to go.” And right as the music
cuts off, I practically yell, “I want to drink and be young and
have fun!”
Everyone turns to me. I’m not sure what to do with all the
attention, so I awkwardly wave my hand in the air. Someone
gives a hoot of approval, and half the bar raises their glasses in
salute and then goes back to talking. The music resumes, and
Robert laughs. Hardin glowers.
“You’ve obviously had enough to drink,” he says, eyeing
the now half-empty glass that Robert brought to me.
“News flash, Hardin: I’m an adult,” I remark in a childish
tone.
“Dammit, Tessa.”
“Maybe I should go . . .” Robert stands.
“Obviously,” Hardin replies at the same time that I say
“No.”
But then, looking around us, I let out a sigh. As much as I
was enjoying my evening with Robert, I know that Hardin will
stand here the entire time making rude remarks, threats,
whatever he has to do to make him leave. It’s better if he does
go.
“I’m sorry. I’ll go and you can stay,” I tell Robert.
He shakes his head with understanding. “No, no—don’t
worry about it. I had a long day, anyway.” He’s so calm and
easygoing about everything. It’s really refreshing.
“I’ll walk you out,” I tell him. I’m not sure if I’ll ever see
him again, and he’s been so kind to me tonight.
“No, you won’t,” Hardin chimes in, but I ignore him and
follow Robert toward the door of the small bar. When I look
back at the table, Hardin is leaning against it with his eyes
closed. I hope he’s taking deep breaths in and out, because I’m
in no mood for his crap tonight.
Once we get outside, I turn to Robert. “I really am sorry. I
didn’t know he was here. I was just trying to have a fun night.”
Robert smiles and slouches a little to better meet my eyes.
“Remember when I said to stop to apologizing for
everything?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small
pad and pen. “I’m not expecting anything, but if someday
you’re bored and alone in Seattle, give me a call. Or not. It’s
up to you if you want to or not.” He writes something down,
then hands it to me.
“Okay.” I don’t want to make any promises that I can’t
keep, so I just smile and tuck the small paper into the top of
my dress. “Sorry!” I squeak when I realize that I basically just
fondled myself in front of him.
“Stop saying sorry!” He laughs. “And especially not for
that!” He looks at the entrance to the bar, then out at the dark,
dark night. “Well, I better go. It was nice to meet you; maybe
we’ll see one another again?”
I nod and smile as he walks down the sidewalk.
“It’s cold out here,” Hardin’s voice says behind me, scaring
the shit out of me.
I huff and walk past him back into the bar. The table that I
was sitting at is now taken by a bald man and his supersized
mug of beer. I grab my purse off the stool next to him, and he
just gives me a dead-eyed look. Or rather, gives my breasts
one.
Hardin is behind me. Again. “Let’s just go, please.”
I step over to the bar area. “Can I just get two feet of space?
I don’t even want to be around you right now. You said some
pretty hateful things to me,” I remind him.
“You know I didn’t mean them,” he answers, defending
himself, attempting to make eye contact with me. I’m not
falling for it.
“That doesn’t mean you can say them.” I look over at the
girl—Lillian’s girlfriend—who’s watching Hardin and me
from the bar. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. I was
having a nice night, and you aren’t ruining it.”
Hardin steps in between us. “So you don’t want me here?”
His eyes flash with hurt, and something in their green depths
makes me backtrack.
“I’m not saying that, but if you’re going to tell me that you
don’t love me or how you use me for sex again, then you need
to go. Or I will.” I’m trying my hardest to keep my bubbly,
giggly attitude instead of sinking down and letting the pain
and frustration take over.
“You are the one who started all this shit when you came
here with him—drunk, might I add . . .” he begins.
I sigh. “Here we go.” Hardin is the king of double
standards. His latest one is walking toward us now.
“Jesus, would you two shut up. We’re in a public place.”
The beautiful girl that Hardin was sitting with interrupts us.
“Not now,” Hardin snaps at her.
“Come on, Hardin’s obsession. Let’s take a seat at the bar,”
she says, ignoring him.
Sitting at a table toward the back of the bar and having a
drink brought to me is one thing; sitting at the bar top and
ordering my own is another. “I’m not old enough,” I inform
her.
“Oh, please. With that dress on, you’ll get a drink.” She
stares at my chest, and I pull the front up slightly.
“If I get kicked out, it’s your fault,” I tell her, and she tips
her head back in laughter.
“I’ll bail you out of jail.” She winks, and Hardin stiffens
next to me. He watches her with warning in his eyes, and I
can’t help but laugh. He tried to make me jealous with Lillian
all night, and now he’s jealous of Lillian’s girlfriend winking
at me.
All of this juvenile back-and-forth—he’s jealous, I’m
jealous, the old lady at the bar is jealous, everyone is jealous—
it’s annoying. Slightly entertaining, especially now, but still
annoying.
“My name is Riley, by the way.” She takes a seat at the end
of the bar. “I’m sure your rude-ass boyfriend isn’t planning on
introducing us.”
I glance back at Hardin, expecting him to cuss her out, but
he only rolls his eyes, which is pretty restrained for him. He
tries to sit at the stool between us, but I grab the back, then
place my hand on his arm to help myself get up onto it. I know
I shouldn’t be touching him, but I want to sit here and enjoy
my last night of this minivacation-turned-disaster. Hardin has
scared away my new friend, and Landon is probably already
asleep by now. I don’t have any other options except sitting
alone in the room back at the cabin. This seems better.
“What can I get you?” a copper-haired bartender in a jean
jacket asks me.
“We’ll have three shots of Jack. Chill them first,” Riley
answers for me.
The woman scans my face for a few seconds, and my heart
begins to race. “Coming up,” she says finally, and pulls three
shot glasses from under the bar and places them in front of us.
“I wasn’t going to drink. I only had one before you came,”
Hardin leans over and says into my ear.
“Drink what you want; I am,” I say without looking at him.
Still, I silently pray that he doesn’t get too drunk. I never know
how he’ll act.
“I can see that,” he says by way of scolding me.
I look at him with scorn, but end up staring at his mouth
instead. Sometimes I just sit and stare at the slow movements
of his lips when he talks; it’s one of my favorite things to do.
Perhaps noticing I’ve softened somewhat, he asks, “Are
you upset with me still?”
“Yes, very.”
“Then why are you acting like you aren’t?” His lips move
even slower. I really need to find out the name of that wine. It
was really good.
“I already told you, I want to have fun,” I repeat. “Are you
mad at me?”
“I always am,” he replies.
I laugh a little. “Isn’t that the truth.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.” I smile innocently and watch him rub the back
of his neck with his hand, pinching the top of his shoulders
between his thumb and forefinger.
A shot of brown liquor is placed in front of me seconds
later, and Riley raises her shot glass to Hardin and me. “Here’s
to dysfunctional, borderline-psychotic relationships.” She
smirks and tilts her head back to take her shot.
Hardin followers her lead.
I take a deep breath before welcoming the cool burn of
whiskey down my throat.
“ONE MORE!” Riley cheers, sliding another shot in front of
me.
“I dunno if I can,” I slur. “I’ve never b-been this drunk,
never never.”
The whiskey has officially taken over my mind, set up
camp, and doesn’t appear to be leaving anytime soon. Hardin
is up to five shots, I lost count of mine after three, and I’m
pretty sure Riley should be heaving on the floor from alcohol
poisoning by now.
“I feel like this whiskey tastes good,” I remark, dipping my
tongue into the chilled shot.
Next to me, Hardin laughs, and I lean into his shoulder and
put my hand on his thigh. His eyes immediately follow my
hand, and I quickly pull it away. I shouldn’t be acting like
nothing happened earlier—I know I shouldn’t, but it’s easier
said than done. Especially when I can barely think straight and
Hardin looks so good in his white button-down shirt. I’ll deal
with our problems tomorrow.
“See, all you needed was a little whiskey to loosen up.”
Riley slams her empty shot glass on the bar top, and I giggle.
“What?” she barks.
“You and Hardin are the same.” I cover my mouth to
conceal my obnoxious giggles.
“No we aren’t,” Hardin says, speaking at that slower pace
he resorts to when he’s intoxicated. So does Riley.
“Yes—you are! It’s like a mirror.” I laugh. “Does Lillian
know you’re here?” I swing my head to the side and ask her.
“Nope. She’s asleep for now.” She licks her lips. “But I
fully intend on waking her up when I return.”
The music starts to increase in volume again, and I watch
the copper-haired woman climb onto the bar for probably the
fourth time tonight.
“Again?” Hardin scrunches his nose, and I laugh.
“I think it’s funny.” I think everything is funny right now.
“I think it’s lame, and it interrupts me every thirty minutes,”
he gripes.
“You should go up there.” Riley nudges me.
“Up where?”
“The bar, you should dance on the bar.”
I shake my head and laugh. And blush. “No way!”
“Come on—you’ve been whining about being young and
having fun, or whatever the hell you were going on and on
about. Now’s your chance. Dance on the bar.”
“I can’t dance.” It’s true. I’ve only danced, excluding slow
dancing, once, and that was at the nightclub in Seattle.
“No one will notice—they’re all even more wasted than
you.” She raises a brow, challenging me.
“No fucking way,” Hardin says.
Through my drunken haze I remember one thing: I’m sure
as hell done letting him tell me what I can and can’t do.
Without a word, I reach down and unfasten the horribly
uncomfortable straps around my ankles and let my high heels
drop to the floor.
Hardin’s eyes are wide as I climb on top of the stool, then
onto the bar. “What are you doing?” He stands and looks
behind us as the few patrons left in the bar begin to cheer.
“Tess . . .”
The song gets louder, and the woman who has been serving
us drinks smiles wickedly at me and takes my hand. “Do you
know any line dances, honey?” she yells
I shake my head, suddenly unsure of myself.
“I’ll teach you!” she yells.
What the hell was I thinking? I just wanted to prove a point
to Hardin, and look where it got me—on top of a bar getting
ready to attempt a dance . . . of some kind. I’m not even sure
what a line dance is, exactly. If I’d known I was going to be up
here, I would have planned it out better and paid more
attention to the women when they were dancing earlier.
chapter forty-eight
HARDIN
Riley’s looking up at Tessa standing in front of her on the bar.
“Damn, I didn’t think she would actually do it!” she calls.
Neither did I, but then again, she seems determined to push
my buttons tonight.
Riley looks at me, her face aglow. “She’s quite the wild
child.”
“No . . . she’s not,” I quietly disagree. Tessa looks
mortified, obviously second-guessing her impulsive decision.
“I’m going to help her down.” I begin to lift my hand up, but
Riley smacks it down.
“Let her do it, man.”
I look at Tessa again. The woman who made our drinks is
speaking to her, but I can’t make out what she’s saying. This is
absolute bullshit, her dancing on a bar in a short-ass dress. If I
was to lean onto the bar, I could see up her dress, as can
anyone else at the bar. It occurs to me that Riley probably
already is. I glance down the bar both ways, take note that
neither of the greasy men at the opposite end are eyeing her.
Yet.
Tessa watches the woman next to her, her brows furrowed
in concentration—completely the opposite of her sudden need
to be “wild.” She follows the movements of the old gal and
kicks out one of her legs, then the other, followed by a swift
movement of her hips.
“Sit down and enjoy the show,” Riley says next to me,
sliding over one of her backup drinks.
I’m drunk—too drunk—but my mind is clear as I watch
Tessa begin to move, really fucking move. Her hands go to her
hips, and she finally smiles, no longer caring that she has the
full attention of almost everyone in the bar. Her eyes meet
mine, and she fumbles her dance moves momentarily before
collecting herself and directing her eyes to the back of the
room.
“Hot, isn’t it?” Riley smiles next to me as she brings her
glass to her lips.
Yes, obviously, watching Tessa on the bar is hot as hell, but
it’s also infuriating and unexpected. The first thought that
comes to mind is: Fuck, this is hot. The second thought is that
I shouldn’t be so engrossed in it and should be irritated at her
constant need to defy me. But I can’t think straight because of
that first thought and the fact that she’s dancing right in front
of me.
The way her dress is riding up her thighs, the way she’s
holding her hair back in one hand and laughing while trying to
keep up with the woman next to her . . . I love to see her this
way, so carefree. I don’t see her laugh like that very often. A
thin layer of sweat has coated her body, making her glow
under the spotlights. I shift uncomfortably and pull the
ridiculous dress shirt I’m wearing down in the front a little.
“Uh-oh,” Riley says.
“What?” I snap out of my trance and follow her eyes down
the bar. Two men at the end of the bar are gawking at Tessa,
and by gawking I mean their fucking eyes are bulging worse
than my fucking dick right now.
I look back up at Tessa, and her dress is dangerously high
on her thighs; each time she kicks her legs out in front of her,
it goes a little higher.
That’s enough of this shit.
“Easy, killer,” Riley says. “The song will be over in . . .”
And then she raises her hand and waves it as the music fades.
chapter forty-nine
TESSA
Hardin’s hand reaches for mine to aid me, and I’m surprised.
By the way he was scowling and pouting the entire time I was
dancing, I thought he’d be yelling by now. Or worse, I was
half expecting him to climb up and drag me off the bar, then
start a brawl with all the customers.
“See, no one noticed that you’re a shitty dancer!” Riley
laughs, and I sit down on the cool bar top.
“That was actually so much fun!” I yell, and once again the
music stops. I laugh and jump down from the bar, Hardin’s
arm wrapped protectively around me until I’m steady enough
for him to retreat.
“You should get up there next time!” I say into Hardin’s
ear, and he shakes his head.
“No,” he says solemnly.
“Don’t pout, it’s not cute.” I reach out and touch his lips. It
is cute, though, the way his bottom lip sticks out. His eyes
shine at the contact, and my pulse quickens. I already feel high
from the adrenaline that came from dancing on the bar top,
something I never in my life thought I would do. As much fun
as it was, I know I’ll never do it again. Hardin sits down on the
bar stool, and I stay standing between him and Riley, next to
my empty stool.
“You love it.” He smiles, my fingers still pressed against
his lips.
“Your lips?” I say with a smirk.
He shakes his head. He’s playful yet very serious at the
same time, and it’s intoxicating, he’s intoxicating, and I’m
highly intoxicated. This should be interesting.
“No, pissing me off. You love to piss me off.” His tone is
dry.
“No. You just get pissed off too easily.”
“You were dancing on a bar in front of a roomful of
people.” His face is mere inches from mine, and his breath is a
heady combination of mint and whiskey. “Obviously that
would get to me, Tessa. You’re lucky I didn’t pull you down,
put you over my shoulder, and carry you out of this place.”
“Over your shoulder, not your knee?” I tease and stare into
his eyes, completely disarming him.
“Wh-what?” he stutters.
I laugh before turning to Riley. “Don’t let him fool you, he
loved that shit,” she whispers to me, and I nod. My stomach
tightens at the thought of Hardin watching me, but my mind
tries to overrule my dirty thoughts. I should be fuming, I
should be ignoring him or yelling at him over sabotaging
Seattle for me, again, or for the hurtful words he said to me,
but it’s nearly impossible to be pissed off when I’m this drunk.
I allow myself to pretend that none of that happened, at
least for now, and imagine that Hardin and I are a normal
couple out with our friend having a drink. No lies, no dramatic
fights, only fun and table dancing.
“I still can’t believe I actually did that!” I say to both of
them.
“Me either,” Hardin grumbles.
“I won’t be doing it again, that’s for sure.” I swipe my hand
across my forehead. I’m sweaty and it’s hot in the small bar;
the air is thick and I need to breathe.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing, it’s hot.” I fan myself with my hand, and he nods
once.
“Let’s go, then, before you pass out.”
“No, I want to stay longer. I’m such having fun. I mean,
such a fun time.”
“You can’t even form a coherent sentence.”
“So? Maybe I don’t want to. Either you loosen up or you
can go.”
“You . . .” he begins, but I cover his mouth with my palm.
“Shh . . . for once just shh. Let’s have fun.” I use my other
hand to touch his thigh again, squeezing this time.
“Fine,” he says into my hand.
I uncover his mouth, but I keep my hand inches away so I
can cover it again if I need to.
“No more dancing on the bar,” he says, gently negotiating.
“Fine. No more pouting or scowling,” I fire back.
He smiles. “Fine.”
“Stop saying ‘fine.’ ” I bite back a grin.
He nods. “Fine.”
“You’re annoying-ish.”
“Annoying-ish? What would your Literature professor say
to that kind of grammar?” Hardin’s eyes are deep jade, alight
with humor, splashed bloodshot from the liquor.
“You’re funny sometimes.” I lean into him.
He hooks his arm around my waist and brings me between
his legs. “Sometimes?” He kisses my hair, and I relax in his
grip.
“Yep, only sometimes.”
He chuckles and doesn’t let me go. I don’t think I want him
to. I know I should, but I don’t. He’s drunk and playful, and
the alcohol in my system makes me lose sight of all common
sense . . . as always.
“Look at the two of you getting along.” Riley holds her
hands up to us like we’re on display.
“She’s so annoying,” Hardin huffs.
“Twins.” I laugh, and he shakes his head at me.
“LAST CALL!” My new friend calls from behind the bar. In
the last hour I have learned that her name is Cami, that she’s
nearly fifty, and that she just had her first grandchild in
December. She shoved some printed pictures in my face, like
every grandmother does, and I praised them, telling her how
beautiful the child is. Hardin barely glanced at the images.
Instead he started mumbling something about trolls, and so I
quickly pulled the picture away from him before Cami heard.
I sway from side to side. “One more and I’m so done.”
“I don’t know how you haven’t passed out yet!” Riley
exclaims, with obvious admiration.
I do: Hardin has been taking my drinks from me halfway
through and finishing them himself.
“You’ve been drinking more than anyone, probababally
more than himmm,” I slur, pointing to the man at the end of
the bar who has literally passed out with his head on the top of
the bar. “I wish Lillian could’ve came with us,” I say, and
Hardin crinkles his nose.
“I thought you hated her?” he asks, and Riley snaps her
head to me.
“I don’t hate her,” I correct him. “I didn’t like her when you
were trying to make me jealous by hanging out with her.”
Riley tenses, looking at Hardin beside me. “What?”
Shit.
“Don’t back away now, darling,” she presses.
I’m trapped and drunk and have no idea what the hell to
say. I don’t want to make her mad, that’s for sure.
“Nothing,” Hardin says to her and holds up a hand. “I was
being a dick and didn’t tell Tessa that she was gay. You
already know that.”
Her shoulders relax. “Oh, okay, then.”
Jeez, she’s just like him.
“See, nothing happened, so chill out,” Hardin says to her.
“I’m chill, trust me,” she coos and moves her stool slightly
closer to mine. “Nothing wrong with a little jealousy, right?”
Riley looks at me with a glint in her drunken gaze. “Have you
ever kissed a girl, Tessa?”
My scalp prickles, and I gasp dramatically. “What?”
“Riley, what the—” Hardin says, but she cuts him off.
“I’m only asking a question. Have you ever kissed a girl?”
“No.”
“Have you ever thought about it?”
Drunk or not, I feel the embarrassment creeping onto my
cheeks. “I—”
“Being with a girl is much better, honestly. They’re soft.”
Her hand moves to my arm. “They know exactly what you
want . . . where you want it.”
Hardin reaches up and swipes her hand from my skin.
“Enough,” he growls, and I pull my arm away.
Riley breaks into uncontrollable laughter. “I’m sorry! I’m
sorry! I couldn’t resist. He started it.” She nods toward Hardin
through her convulsions and then stops to look at him with a
big smile. “I warned you earlier not to fuck with me.”
I let out a breath, extremely relieved that she was only
trying to get a rise out of Hardin. A giggle bursts from my
mouth, and Hardin looks mortified, pissed off, and . . . maybe
slightly turned on?
“You’re paying for the drinks, since you want to be an
asshole,” Hardin says, pushing the long piece of paper past me
and in front of her.
Riley rolls her eyes and reaches into her back pocket,
pulling out a card and placing it on top of the receipt. Cami
quickly swipes it and goes to attend to the passed-out man at
the other end of the bar.
As we get to the door, Riley announces, “Well, we closed
down the bar—Lil is going to be pissed.”
Hardin holds the door for me to walk out. He almost closes
it in her face, but I reach out to stop it and give him a hard
glare. He laughs and shrugs as if he did nothing wrong, and I
can’t stop the smile on my face. He’s a jerk, but he’s my jerk.
Isn’t he?
Nothing’s for certain, but I sure as hell don’t want to think
about that while walking back to the cabin at two in the
morning.
“Will she still be asleep?” I ask Riley.
“I sure as hell hope so.”
I hope everyone in our cabin is asleep, too. The last thing I
want is for Ken or Karen to be awake as we stumble through
the front door.
“What? Are you afraid she’ll scold you or something?”
Hardin taunts her.
“No . . . well, yes. I don’t want to upset her. I’m already
skating on thin ice.”
“Why?” I ask nosily.
“Doesn’t matter,” Hardin says, dismissing me and leaving
Riley lost in thought.
The remainder of the walk is spent in near silence. I count
my steps and laugh occasionally when I recall my bar-dancing
experience.
When we reach Max’s cabin, Riley hesitates before
departing. “It was . . . nice to meet you,” she says. I can’t help
but laugh at the comical way she scrunches her face, as if the
words taste sour coming out of her mouth.
I smile. “You, too; it was fun.” For a moment I think about
hugging her, but that would be awkward and I get the feeling
Hardin wouldn’t like it at all.
“Bye,” Hardin simply states without stopping.
When we’re almost to the cabin, it hits me how tired I am
and how I’m so thankful to be close. My feet are aching, and
the harsh fabric of this itchy, uncomfortable dress has surely
scratched my skin.
“My feet hurt,” I whine.
“Come here, I’ll carry you,” Hardin offers.
What? I giggle.
He smiles uncertainly. “Why are you looking at me like
that?”
“You just offered to carry me.”
“And . . .”
“It’s just unlike you, that’s all.” I shrug, and he steps closer,
hooks his arm under my legs, and lifts me into his arms.
“I would do anything for you, Tessa. You shouldn’t be
surprised that I’d carry you up a damn driveway.”
I don’t speak, I just laugh. Hard. Uncontrollable laughter
racks my body. I cover my mouth to stop it, but it doesn’t help
one bit.
“Why are you laughing?” His face is stone, serious and
intimidating.
“I don’t know . . . that was just funny,” I say.
We reach the porch, and he shifts me slightly so he can turn
the knob on the door. “Me telling you that I’d do anything for
you is funny?”
“You’ll do anything for me—except go to Seattle, marry
me, or have children with me?” Even in my drunkenness, the
irony is not lost on me.
“Don’t start with me; we’re too drunk to have this
conversation right now.”
“Ooooh,” I immaturely remark, knowing that he’s right.
Hardin shakes his head and walks up the stairs. I latch on to
his neck, and he smiles down at me despite his curt behavior.
“Don’t drop me,” I whisper, and he lets go of me just
enough to slide me down his torso. I turn and wrap my legs
around his waist, letting out a small yelp as I cling to his body.
“Shh, if I was going to drop you,” he threatens, “it would
be from the top.”
I do my best to look appalled. A wicked grin spreads over
his face, and I lean up and stick my tongue out at him,
touching the end of his nose with it.
I blame the whiskey.
At the end of the hall, a light clicks on, and Hardin hurries
to the room we’re sharing. “You woke them up,” he says and
places me on the bed. I lean down to remove my shoes,
rubbing my sore ankles as I drop the monstrous shoes to the
floor.
“Your fault,” I say and walk past him and open the dresser
drawer to dig out something more comfortable to sleep in.
“This dress is killing me,” I groan, reaching behind me to
unzip it. It was much easier to zip it when I was sober.
“Here.” Hardin moves behind me and brushes my hand
aside. “What the hell?”
“What?”
His fingers trace over my skin, raising goose bumps. “Your
skin is red, like the dress left these marks on you.” He touches
a spot under my shoulder blade and pushes the fabric down my
back until it hits the floor.
“It was really uncomfortable,” I whine.
“I can see that.” He circles me with hungry eyes. “Nothing
is supposed to be marking you, except me.”
I gulp. He’s drunk, playful, and his dark eyes give away
exactly what he’s thinking.
“Come here.” He steps toward me, closing the small gap
between us. He’s fully dressed, and I’m only in a bra and
panties.
I shake my head. “No . . .” I know there’s something I have
to say to him, I just can’t recall what it is. I can barely
remember my name when he’s looking at me this way.
“Yes,” he counters, and I back away.
“I’m not having sex with you.”
He grabs me by the arm and pushes his free hand into my
hair, gently tugging at it so I’m forced to look up at him. His
breath fans across my face, his lips only inches from mine.
“And why is that?” he asks.
“Because . . .” My mind scrambles for answers as my
subconscious begs for the rest of my clothes to be torn off.
“I’m upset with you.”
“So? I’m upset with you, too.” His lips graze over my skin,
trailing along my jawline. My knees are weak, my mind is
heavy and cloudy.
I crinkle my brow and ask, “Why would you be? I didn’t do
anything.” My stomach clenches when his hands move to my
backside, squeezing and kneading slowly.
“Your little show on the bar was enough to send me to the
fucking madhouse, not to mention the fact that you were
parading around town with that fucking waiter; you
disrespected me in front of everyone by staying with him.” His
tone is threatening, but his lips are soft as they travel down to
my neck. “I want you so bad, I wanted you at that shitty bar.
After watching you dance like that, I wanted to take you into
the bathroom and fuck you against the wall.” He presses
himself against me, and I can feel how hard he is.
As much as I want him, I can’t allow him to blame
everything on me.
“You . . .” I close my eyes, relishing the feeling of his hands
on me, his lips on me. “You are the one . . .” I can’t form a
solid thought, let alone make a sentence. “Stop it.”
I grab his hands to stop them from groping me further.
His eyes flash, and he drops his hands to his sides. “You
don’t want me?”
“Of course I do, I always do. I just . . . I’m supposed to be
mad.”
“Be mad tomorrow,” he says with that evil grin of his.
“I always do that, I need to—”
“Shh . . .” He covers my mouth with his lips and kisses me,
hard. My lips part, and he takes full advantage, tugging at my
hair once more, dipping his tongue into my mouth, and pulling
me as close to his body as possible.
“Touch me,” he begs, reaching for my hands. I don’t have
to be told twice; I want to touch him, and he needs the
reassurance. This is the way we deal with things, and as
unhealthy as it is, it doesn’t feel that way when he’s kissing me
like this and begging me to put my hands on him.
I fumble for the buttons on his shirt, and he groans
impatiently, using both hands to tug at either side of it,
popping off the buttons.
“I liked that shirt,” I say into his mouth, and he smiles, his
lips against mine.
“I hated it.”
I push the fabric down past his shoulders and let it fall to
the floor. His tongue is slow in my mouth, and I’m melting in
his arms at the rough yet incredibly sweet kiss. I feel the anger
and frustration behind his lips, but he does his best to hide it.
He’s always hiding.
“I know you’ll leave me soon,” he says, moving his lips
down to my neck again.
“What?” I pull back a little, surprised by his words, and
confused.
My heart aches for him, the liquor making me even more
sympathetic toward his feelings. I love him, I love him so
much. But he makes me feel so weak, so vulnerable. The
moment I allow myself to believe he’s worried, sad, or upset in
any way, it’s like all my emotions shift, only focusing on him
and not myself or how I feel.
“I love you so,” he whispers, dragging his thumb slowly
across my lips. His bare chest and torso look heavenly against
his black jeans, and I know I’m at his complete mercy.
“Hardin, what—”
“Let’s talk later. I want to feel you.” He guides me to the
bed, and I try to ignore my mind screaming at me to stop him,
not to give in to him. I can’t, though. I’m not strong enough to
stop myself when his callused hands are running up my thighs,
pushing them open slightly, when he’s teasing me with an
index finger running over my panties.
“Condom,” I pant, and his bloodshot eyes meet mine.
“What if we don’t use one? What if I come inside of you,
you wouldn’t be . . .”
But he stops himself, and I’m glad. I don’t think I’m
prepared for whatever it was he was going to say. He lifts
himself off of me, stands to his feet, and saunters over to the
suitcase on the floor. I lie back, staring at the ceiling, trying to
sift through my drunken thoughts. Do I really need Seattle? Is
Seattle important enough to me to lose Hardin? The pain that
courses through me at the thought is nearly unbearable.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he says from across the
room.
When I sit up, he’s staring down at a small piece of paper in
his hand.
“What the fuck is this?” he asks as his eyes meet mine.
“What?” I look down at the floor; my dress lies in a pile on
the dark hardwood with my shoes. At first I’m a little
confused, but then I look down and see my bra lying on the
floor. Shit. I hop up quickly and attempt to grab the paper from
him.
“Don’t play stupid with me—you got his fucking number?”
He gapes, holding the paper above his head so I have no
chance of taking it back.
“It wasn’t like that, I was mad and he was—”
“Bullshit!” he shouts.
Here we go. I know that look. I still remember the first time
I saw that look on his face. He was pushing over the cabinet at
his father’s house the first time I saw his face twisted in anger
this way. “Hardin—”
“Go on, call him. Let him fuck you—because I sure as hell
don’t want to.”
“Don’t overreact,” I beg. I’m too drunk to get into a
screaming match with him.
“Overreact? I just found another guy’s number in your
dress,” he hisses through his teeth, jaw clenched in annoyance.
“You aren’t innocent here either,” I remark as he paces back
and forth. “If you’re going to yell at me, save your breath. I’m
done fighting with you every single day,” I say with a sigh.
He points at me angrily. “You do this! You’re the one that
constantly enrages me; it’s your fault that I’m like this, and
you know it!”
“No! No, it’s not.” I struggle to keep my voice down. “You
can’t blame everything on me. We both make mistakes.”
“No, you make mistakes. A shit ton of them, and I’m sick
of it.” He tugs at his hair. “You think I want to be this way?
Fuck no, I don’t. You do this to me!”
I stay quiet.
“Go on, cry,” he says, mocking me.
“I’m not going to cry.”
His eyes go wide. “Well, surprise, surprise.” He claps his
hands in the most degrading way possible.
I laugh. Which stops him.
“Why are you laughing?” He stares at me for a beat.
“Answer me.”
I shake my head. “You’re fucked up. I mean colossally
fucked up.”
“And you’re a selfish bitch. What else is new?” he snaps,
and my laughter comes to an abrupt halt.
I rise from the bed without a word, without a tear, and grab
a T-shirt and shorts from the drawer. I pull them on hastily as
he watches me.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks.
“Leave me alone.”
“No, come here.” He reaches for me and I desperately want
to slap him, but I know he’ll stop me.
“No, get off of me!” I shake my arm from his grip. “I’m
done. I’m so done with this back-and-forth. I’m tired and
exhausted, and I don’t want to do it anymore. You don’t love
me—you want to possess me, and I won’t let you.” I look
straight into his brilliant green eyes. Straight through them,
and say, “You’re broken, Hardin, and I can’t fix you.”
His face falls at the realization of what he’s done to me, and
to himself, and he stands in front of me with all emotion pulled
out of him. His shoulders sink, and his eyes are no longer
brilliant as he stares back at me, finally seeing a blank
expression mirrored back at him. I have nothing left to say, he
has nothing left to break inside of me or himself, and by the
way the color has drained from his face, he’s finally realized it.
chapter fifty
TESSA
Landon opens the door, rubbing his eyes. He’s half dressed,
wearing only plaid pants, no shirt or socks.
“Can I sleep in here?” I ask him, and he nods drowsily, not
asking any questions. “I’m sorry for waking you up,” I
whisper to him.
“It’s okay,” he mumbles, and stumbles back to the bed.
“Here, you can have this one, the other is flat.” He pushes a
fluffy white pillow against my chest.
I smile, hugging the pillow close and sitting on the edge of
the bed. “This is why I love you. Well, not the only reason, but
one of them.”
“Because I gave you the best pillow?” His smile is even
more adorable when laced with sleep.
“No, because you’re always here for me . . . and you have
soft pillows.” My voice is so slow when I’m drunk . . . it’s
odd.
Landon lies back on the bed and moves his body over so
that there’s plenty of room for me on the other side. “Is he
going to come in here after you?” he asks quietly.
“I don’t think so.” The moment of humor that came with
Landon and his soft pillows has been replaced by the ache of
Hardin and the words we exchanged moments ago.
I lie down on my side and look over at Landon lying next to
me. “Remember when you said he isn’t a lost cause?” I
whisper.
“Yeah.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Yeah, I do.” He pauses. “Unless he did something
else . . .”
“No, well . . . nothing new, really. I just . . . I don’t know if
I can do it anymore. We keep moving backward, and we
shouldn’t be. Every single time I think we’re making progress,
he becomes that same Hardin I met six months ago. He calls
me a selfish bitch, or basically tells me he doesn’t love me—
and I know he doesn’t mean the words, but every syllable
crushes me a little more than the last, and I think I’m starting
to understand that this really is just the way he is. He can’t
help it, but he can’t change it either.”
Landon watches me with thoughtful eyes before his mouth
turns to a frown. “He called you a bitch? Tonight?”
I nod, and he sighs heavily, running his hand over his face.
“I was saying hurtful things to him, too.” I hiccup. The
heavy combination of wine and whiskey is going to haunt me
tomorrow, I know it.
“He shouldn’t call you out of your name—he’s a man and
you’re a woman. It’s never okay, Tessa. Please don’t make
excuses for him.”
“I’m not . . . I just . . .” But that’s exactly what I’m doing. I
sigh. “I think this is all about Seattle. He went from getting a
tattoo for me and telling me that he can’t live without me to
telling me he only chases me because I fuck him. Oh my gosh!
I’m sorry, Landon!” I cover my face with my hands. I cannot
believe I just said that in front of him.
“It’s okay—you did just fish your underwear out of the hot
tub, remember?” He grins, lightening the conversation, and I
hope that the relative darkness of the room at least hides my
blushing.
“This trip has been a disaster.” I shake my head, pressing it
against the cool pillow.
“Maybe not; maybe this is what you two needed.”
“To break up?”
“No . . . is that what happened?” He lays another pillow
next to me.
“I don’t know.” I bury my face further.
“Is that what you want?” he asks delicately.
“No, but it’s what I should want. It’s not fair to either of us
to keep doing this day in and day out. I’m not innocent here
either—I always expect too much from him.” My mother’s
flaws have been passed down to me. She expects too much
from everyone, too.
Landon shifts a little. “There isn’t anything wrong with
expecting things from him, especially when the things that you
expect from him are reasonable,” he replies. “He has to see
what he has. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him;
he needs to remember that.”
“He said that it’s my fault . . . that he is the way he is. All I
want is for him to be kind to me at least half the time, and I
want security in our relationship, that’s all. It’s pathetic,
really.” I groan, my voice breaks, and I can still taste the
whiskey laced with Hardin’s mint on my tongue. “Would you
go to Seattle if you were me? I can’t help but think I should
just call it off and stay here, or go with him to England. If he’s
acting like this because I’m going to Seattle, maybe I should
—”
“You can’t not go,” Landon interrupts. “You’ve been
gushing over Seattle since the day I met you. If Hardin won’t
go with you, then that’s his loss. Besides, I give him a week of
you being gone before he shows up at your doorstep. You
can’t give in on this; he has to know that you’re serious this
time. You have to let him miss you.”
I smile while envisioning Hardin showing up a week after I
leave, desperately begging for my forgiveness with lilies in his
hand. “I don’t even have a doorstep for him to show up on.”
“That was him, wasn’t it? The reason that woman wasn’t
calling you back?”
“Yeah.”
“I knew it. Realtors don’t just not return calls. You have to
go. Ken will help you find somewhere to stay until you find a
permanent place.”
“What if he doesn’t come after all? And worse, what if he
does come but he’s even more angry because he hates it
there?”
“Tessa, I’m only saying this because I care about you,
okay?” He waits for my response, and I nod. “You’d have to
be insane to give up Seattle for someone who loves you more
than anything but is only willing to show it half of the time.”
I think about Hardin saying that I make all the mistakes,
that I make him act the way he does. “Do you think he’d be
better off without me?” I ask Landon.
He sits up a little and says, “No, heck no! But seeing as I
know you don’t tell me even half of the messed-up things he
says to you, maybe it really isn’t going to work.” Reaching
across the empty space between us, his hand touches my arm
and he rubs slowly.
Using the alcohol in my veins as an excuse, I grant myself
permission to ignore the fact that Landon, one of the only
people who actually had faith in my relationship with Hardin,
has just thrown in the towel. “I’m going to feel like hell
tomorrow,” I say to change the subject before I break the
promise that I made with myself not to cry.
“Yeah, you are,” he teases. “You smell like a liquor
cabinet.”
“I met Lillian’s girlfriend. She kept giving me shots. Oh,
and I danced on a bar.”
He gasps gleefully. “You didn’t.”
“I did. It was so embarrassing. It was Riley’s idea.”
“She’s . . . interesting.” Landon smiles and seems to notice
his fingertips still running over my skin. He pulls them away
and tucks his arm under his head.
“She’s the female version of Hardin.” I laugh.
“She is! No wonder she sounds so annoying!” he teases,
and in a moment of drunken insanity, I glance over to the door,
expecting to see Hardin there with a deep scowl after hearing
Landon’s playful insult.
“You make me forget about everything.” My mouth
releases the words before my mind can catch up.
“I’m glad.” My best friend smiles and grabs the blanket at
the foot of the bed. He pulls it up over both of our bodies, and
I close my eyes.
Minutes pass in silence, and my mind is putting up a fight
as sleep tries to pull me under. Landon’s breathing slows, and I
have to keep my eyes closed and pretend that it’s Hardin
breathing next to me or my mind will never surrender.
Hardin’s angry scowl and harsh words float through my
hazy thoughts as I finally fall asleep: You’re a selfish bitch.
“NO!”
Hardin’s voice startles me awake. It takes a moment to
remember that I’m in Landon’s room and Hardin is down the
hall, alone.
“Get off of her!” His voice echoes down the hallway
seconds later.
I’m out of bed and at the door before he even finishes the
sentence.
He has to see what he has. He has to know that you’re
serious this time. You have to let him miss you.
If I go rushing into that room, I know I’ll forgive
everything. I’ll see him feeling vulnerable and afraid, and I’ll
say whatever he needs to hear to comfort him.
I pick my heart up off of the floor and walk back to the bed.
I place the pillow over my head just as another “No!” rips
through the cabin.
“Tessa . . . are you . . .” Landon whispers.
“No,” I reply, my voice cracking at the end. I bite down on
the pillow and break my own promise. I begin to cry. Not for
myself. The tears are for Hardin, for the boy who doesn’t
know how to treat the people that he cares about, the boy who
has nightmares when I’m not in bed with him, but who tells
me that he doesn’t love me. The boy who really does need to
be reminded how it feels to be alone.
chapter fifty-one
HARDIN
They won’t stop, they won’t stop touching her. His dirty,
wrinkled hands run up her thighs, and she whimpers as the
other man fists her ponytail in his hand, pulling her head back,
hard.
“Get away from her!” I try to shout at them, but they can’t
hear me. I try to move but am frozen on the staircase from my
childhood. Her gray eyes are wide, afraid, and absolutely
fucking lifeless as she looks at me while a purple bruise
already begins forming on her cheek.
“You don’t love me,” she whispers. Her eyes burn into mine
as his hand creeps up and wraps around her neck.
What?
“Yes; yes, I do! I do love you, Tess!” I shout, but she
doesn’t listen.
She shakes her head as he tightens his grip on her and his
friend reaches down between her legs.
“No!” I scream one last time before she begins to fade in
front of my eyes.
“You don’t love me . . .” Her eyes are bloodshot from his
assault, and I can’t do a damn thing to help her.
“Tess!” I flail my arm out across the bed to reach for her.
The moment I touch her, this panic will go away, taking with it
the fucked-up images of those hands wrapped around her
neck.
She’s not here.
She didn’t come back. I sit up and click on the lamp on the
nightstand and scan the room. My heart is hammering against
my rib cage, and my body is drenched in sweat.
She’s not here.
A light knock at the door sounds, and I hold my breath as it
creaks open. Please be . . .
“Hardin?” Karen’s soft voice fills the room. Fuck.
“I’m fine,” I snap, and she opens the door further.
“If you need anything, please let me—”
“I fucking said I’m fine!” My hand swipes across the
nightstand, knocking the lamp to the floor with a hideous
crash.
Without a word, Karen leaves the room, closing the door
behind her, and I’m left alone in the darkness.
TESSA’S HEAD lies on the counter, cushioned by her crossed
arms. She’s still in her pajamas, and her hair is in a nest on top
of her head. “I just need to take some Tylenol and drink some
water,” she groans.
Landon sits next to her, spooning cereal into his mouth.
“I’ll get you some. Once we get the car packed up, we can
head out. Ken is still in bed, though; he had trouble sleeping
last night,” Karen says.
Tessa looks up at her but stays silent. I know she’s thinking,
Did they all hear me screaming like a pathetic little bitch?
Karen walks over to open a drawer and grabs a couple of
foil packets. I watch all three of them, waiting for someone to
acknowledge me. No one does.
“I’m going to go pack; thank you so much for the Tylenol.”
Tessa’s voice is soft as she stands up from her seat at the
counter. She takes the medication quickly, and when she sets
the glass of water back onto the counter, her eyes meet mine,
but she quickly looks away.
It’s only been one night without her, and already I miss her
so much. I can’t get the haunting images from my nightmare
out of my mind, especially when she walks past me with no
emotion at all. Nothing to let me know that I’ll be okay.
The dream felt so real, and she’s being so cold.
I stand still for a moment debating whether or not to follow
her, but my feet decide for me as they scale the stairs. When I
enter the room, she’s kneeling down, unzipping the suitcase.
“I’m just going to pack everything, then we can go,” she
says without turning around.
I nod, then realize that she can’t see me. “Yeah, okay,” I
mutter. I don’t know what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling,
or what I should say. I’m fucking clueless, as usual.
“I’m sorry,” I say too damn loud.
“I know,” she replies quickly. Her back is still turned to me
as she begins to refold my clothes from the dresser and floor.
“I really am. I didn’t mean what I said.” I need her to look
at me so I can be reassured that my dream was just that.
“I know you didn’t. Don’t worry about it.” She sighs, and I
notice the way her shoulders are slumped lower than before.
“Are you sure . . . I said some fucked-up shit.” You’re
broken, Hardin, and I can’t fix you—that was the worst
possible thing she could have said to me. She finally realizes
how fucked up I am, and more importantly, she realizes that
there’s no cure for what’s wrong with me. No one can fix me if
it isn’t her.
“So did I. It’s fine. I have a really bad headache; can we
talk about something else?”
“Of course.” I kick at a piece of the lamp I broke last night.
I have to owe my father and Karen at least five fucking lamps
by now.
I feel slightly guilty for snapping at Karen last night, but I
don’t want to bring it up to her first, and she’s probably too
polite and understanding to bring it up herself.
“Can you get your stuff from the bathroom, please?” Tessa
asks.
The remainder of my time at that damn cabin is spent this
way, watching Tessa as she packs our things and cleans up the
broken lamp without another word to me, without really
looking at me.
chapter fifty-two
TESSA
I’m so thrilled that we got to see Max and Denise again—it’s
been years!” Karen gushes as Ken starts the SUV. The bags
have been placed securely in the back, and I borrowed
Landon’s headphones to distract myself during the drive.
“It was nice. Lillian has grown so much.” Ken appeases
Karen with a smile.
“She has. She’s such a beautiful girl.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. Lillian was nice and all, but
after spending hours under the impression that she was
interested in Hardin, I’m not sure if I’ll ever care for the girl.
I’m grateful that the chances of me seeing her again are slim to
nonexistent.
“Max hasn’t changed over the years,” Ken remarks, his
voice low and disapproving. At least I’m not the only one who
doesn’t care for his arrogance and haughty attitude.
“Do you feel any better?” Landon turns around to ask me.
“Not really.” I sigh.
He nods. “You can sleep it off during the drive. Do you
want a bottle of water?”
“I can get it,” Hardin interjects.
Ignoring him, Landon grabs a thing of water from the small
cooler on the floor in front of his seat. I thank him quietly and
push the earbuds into my ears. My phone freezes repeatedly,
so I turn it off and on again, hoping it will work. This drive
will be miserable if I can’t drown out the tension with music. I
don’t know why I never did this before the “great depression,”
when Landon had to show me how to download music.
I smile slightly at the ridiculous nickname I’ve given those
long days without Hardin; I don’t know why I’m smiling,
given that those were the worst few days of my life. I feel a
similar sensation now. I know that time is coming again.
“What’s wrong?” Hardin leans down to speak into my ear,
and on reflex I jerk away. He frowns and doesn’t make a move
to touch me again.
“Nothing, my phone is just . . . it’s junk.” I hold the device
in the air.
“What are you trying to do, exactly?”
“Listen to music and hopefully sleep,” I whisper.
He takes the phone from my hand and messes with the
settings. “If you listened to me and got a new phone, this
wouldn’t happen,” he scolds.
I bite my tongue and stare out the window while he
attempts to fix my phone. I don’t want a new one, and I don’t
really have the money to get one right now, anyway. I have an
apartment to find, new furniture to buy, bills to pay. The last
thing on my mind is paying hundreds of dollars for something
I already paid money for recently.
“It’s working now, I think. If not, you can just use mine,”
he says.
Use his? Hardin is voluntarily offering to allow me to use
his phone? This is new.
“Thanks,” I mutter and scroll through the song list on my
phone before choosing. Soon music floods through my ears
and enters my thoughts, drowning out my inner turmoil.
Hardin leans his head against the window and closes his
eyes, the dark rings beneath them emphasizing his lack of
sleep.
A wave of guilt hits me, but I push it back. Within minutes,
the calming music coaxes me to sleep.
“TESSA.” Hardin’s voice wakes me. “Are you hungry?”
“No,” I groan, not wanting to open my eyes.
“You’re hungover; you should eat,” he says.
Suddenly I realize that I’m feeling the need for something
to absorb all that stomach acid. “Fine,” I say, giving in. I don’t
have the energy to put up a fight today, anyway.
Minutes later a sandwich and fries are placed on my lap,
and I open my eyes. I pick at the food and lay my head back
on the seat after finishing half of it. But my phone has frozen
yet again.
Seeing me start to futz with it, Hardin pulls my earbuds out
of my phone and plugs them into his. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
He’s already opened the music app for me. A long list
appears on the screen, and I scroll through to find anything
familiar. I almost give up, but then my eyes move to a folder
named T. I look over at Hardin, whose eyes, surprisingly, are
closed and not watching me. When I tap the folder, all of my
favorite music appears, even songs that I’ve never mentioned
to him. He must have seen them on my phone.
Things like these make me question myself. The small,
thoughtful gestures that he tries to conceal from me are my
favorite things in the entire world. I wish he’d stop hiding
them.
WITH A GENTLE NUDGE, it’s Karen who wakes me this
time. “Wake up, dear.”
I look over and see Hardin is asleep; his hand is on the seat
between us, his fingers barely touching my leg. Even in his
sleep, he gravitates to me.
“Hardin, wake up,” I whisper, and his eyes fly open, wide
and immediately alert. He rubs them, then scratches his head
and stares at me, gauging my expression.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, and I nod. I’m trying to
avoid any confrontation with him today, but I’m growing
nervous at his calm demeanor. It’s usually a precursor to a
blowup.
We file out of the car, and Hardin walks to the back to
retrieve our bags.
Karen wraps her arms around me and hugs me tight.
“Tessa, dear, thank you again for coming. It was a lovely time.
Please come visit soon, but in the meanwhile, take Seattle by
storm.” When she pulls away, her eyes are full of tears.
“I’ll visit soon, I promise.” I hug her again. She has always
been so kind and supportive of me, almost like the mother I
never had.
“Good luck, Tessa, and let me know if you need anything. I
have a lot of connections in Seattle.” Ken smiles and
awkwardly wraps an arm around my shoulder.
“I’ll see you again before I leave for New York, so no hugs
for you yet,” Landon says, and we both laugh.
“I’ll be in the car,” Hardin mumbles and walks off, not even
saying goodbye to his family.
Watching him go, Ken says to me, “He’ll come around, if
he knows what’s good for him.”
I look at Hardin, who is now sitting in the car. “I sure hope
so.”
“Going back to England isn’t good for him. He has too
many memories, too many enemies, too many mistakes there.
You’re what’s good for him, you and Seattle,” Ken assures me,
and I nod. If only Hardin saw it that way.
“Thank you again.” I smile at them before joining Hardin in
the car.
He doesn’t say a word when I get in; he only turns on the
radio and raises the volume up high so I know he doesn’t want
to talk. I wish I knew what went on inside his mind at times
like this, when he’s so unreadable.
My fingers fiddle with the bracelet he gave me for
Christmas, and I stare out the window as the drive continues.
By the time we park at the apartment, the tension I feel
between us has grown to an unbearable level. It’s driving me
insane, yet he doesn’t seem to be affected at all.
I move to get out, and Hardin’s large hand reaches over to
stop me. He brings his other hand to my chin and tips my head
up so I have to look at him. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be upset
with me,” he says quietly, his mouth inches from mine.
“Okay,” I breathe, inhaling his minty scent.
“You’re not okay, though, I can tell. You’re holding back,
and I hate it.”
He’s right; he always knows exactly what I’m thinking, but
yet he’s so clueless at the same time. It’s a confusing
contradiction. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”
“So don’t,” he states, as if it’s that simple.
“I’m trying not to, but so much happened during that trip.
I’m still trying to process it all,” I admit. It started with me
finding out that Hardin sabotaged my apartment and ended
with him calling me a selfish bitch.
“I know I ruined the trip.”
“It wasn’t only you. I shouldn’t have spent time with—”
“Don’t finish,” he interrupts and drops his hand from my
chin. “I don’t want to hear about it.”
“Okay.” I glance away from his intense stare, and he puts
his hand over mine, squeezing gently.
“Sometimes I . . . well, sometimes I get . . . fuck.” He sighs
and starts again. “Sometimes when I think about us, I start to
get paranoid, you know? Like I don’t know why you’re with
me sometimes, so I act out and my mind starts making me
believe that it won’t work or that I’m losing you, and that’s
when I say stupid shit. If you could just forget about Seattle,
we could be happy finally—no more distractions.”
“Seattle isn’t a distraction, Hardin,” I reply softly.
“It is. You’re only pushing it so much to prove a point.” It’s
amazing how his tone can change from soothing to ice in a
matter of seconds.
I look out the window. “Can we please stop talking about
Seattle? Nothing is changing: you don’t want to go, and I do.
I’m sick of going around and around about it.”
He pulls his hand away, and I turn back to him. “Fine, what
do you suggest we do, then? You go to Seattle without me?
How long do you think we would last? A week? A month?”
His eyes regard me coolly, and I shiver.
“We could make it work if we really wanted to. At least
long enough for me to try Seattle and see if it’s what I want. If
I don’t like it, we can go to England.”
“No, no, no,” he says with a shrug. “If you go to Seattle, we
won’t be together at all. That will be it.”
“What? Why?” I fumble the words and scramble for my
next response.
“Because I don’t do long distance.”
“You also didn’t ‘do’ dating, remember?” I remind him. It’s
infuriating that I’m basically begging him to stay in a
relationship with me when I should be considering leaving him
for the way he treats me.
“Look how that’s turning out,” he says cynically.
“You were literally just apologizing for lashing out at me
two minutes ago, and now you’re threatening to end our
relationship if I go to Seattle without you?” I gape while he
nods slowly. “So let me get this straight: you offered to marry
me if I don’t go, but if I do go, you’re breaking up with me?” I
wasn’t prepared to bring up his offer, but I couldn’t stop the
words from coming.
“Marry you?” His mouth falls open and his eyes narrow. I
knew I shouldn’t have mentioned it. “What—”
“You said that if I chose you, you’d marry me. I know you
were drunk, but I thought maybe—”
“You thought what? That I would marry you?” As he
speaks these words, all of the air in the car disappears, and
breathing proves harder and harder as the seconds pass in
silence.
I will not cry in front of this boy. “No, I knew you
wouldn’t, I just—”
“Then why bring it up? You know how drunk I was and
desperate for you to stay—I would have said anything.”
My heart sinks at his words, at the scorn in his voice. Like
he’s blaming me for believing the bullshit that comes out of
his mouth. I knew insulting me would be his reaction, but a
small part of me—the part that still had faith in his love for me
—led me to believe that maybe he meant his proposal.
This is déjà vu. I once sat here, in this car seat, while he
mocked me and laughed at me for thinking we would begin a
relationship. The fact that I’m just as hurt now, actually a lot
more hurt than I was then, makes me want to scream.
I don’t, though. I sit there, quiet and embarrassed, just like I
always do when Hardin does what he always does.
“I love you. I love you more than anything, Tessa, and I
don’t want to hurt your feelings, okay?”
“Well, you’re doing an amazing job,” I snap and bite down
on the inside of my cheek. “I’m going inside.”
He sighs and opens his car door at the same time as I open
mine. Going around to the back, he opens the trunk. I’d offer
to help him carry the bags, but I really don’t feel like
interacting with him, and he’d just insist on doing it himself
anyway. Because more than anything, Hardin wants to be an
island.
We walk through the complex in silence, and the only noise
in the elevator is the whir of the machinery pulling us upward.
When we get to our place, Hardin puts his key in the lock,
then asks me, “Did you forget to lock the door?”
At first I don’t realize what he’s asked, but then I recover
and reply, “No, you locked it. I remember.” I watched him
lock the door before we left; I remember how he rolled his
eyes and made a joke about me taking too long to get ready.
“That’s weird,” he says, and steps inside. His eyes scan the
room like he’s searching for something.
“Do you think—” I start.
“Someone was in here,” he answers, becoming instantly
alert as he presses his mouth into a hard line.
I begin to panic. “Are you sure? It doesn’t look like
anything is missing.” I walk toward the hallway but he quickly
pulls me back.
“Don’t go in there until I look around,” he commands.
I want to tell him to stay put, that I will check, but it’s silly,
really: the idea of me protecting him, when in reality he’d be
the one protecting me. I nod, and a chill creeps down my
spine. What if someone really is inside? Who would come into
our apartment when we aren’t here and not steal the giant flat-
screen television I can still see hanging on the wall in the
living room?
Hardin disappears into our bedroom, and I hold my breath
until I hear his voice again.
“It’s clear.” He reappears from the bedroom, and I let out a
deep breath.
“Are you sure someone was here?”
“Yes, but I don’t know why they didn’t take anything . . .”
“Me either.” My eyes scan the room, and I notice the
difference. The small stack of books on the nightstand next to
Hardin’s side of the bed has been moved. I especially
remember the highlighted book I gave him being on top,
because it made me smile knowing that he was reading it over
again.
“It was your fucking dad!” he suddenly shouts.
“What?” If I’m honest, the thought was already planted in
my mind, but I didn’t want to be the one say it.
“It had to be him! Who else would know we were gone and
come into our home but not steal shit? Only him, that stupid,
drunk motherfucker!”
“Hardin!”
“Call him, right now,” he demands.
I reach for my phone in my back pocket but then freeze.
“He doesn’t have a phone.”
Hardin throws his hands up like it’s the worst thing he’s
ever heard. “Oh yeah, of course not. He’s fucking broke and
homeless.”
“Stop it,” I say with a glare. “Just because you think it may
have been him doesn’t mean you can say things like that in
front of me!”
“Fine.” He lowers his arms and makes a sweeping gesture
to escort me out. “Let’s go find him, then.”
I walk over to our landline. “No! We should just call the
police and report it, not go on a manhunt for my father.”
“Call the police and say what? That your drug-addict father
broke into our apartment but didn’t steal anything?”
I stop in my tracks and turn to face him. I can practically
feel my temper flaring through my eyes. “Drug addict?”
He blinks rapidly and takes a step toward me. “I meant
drunk . . .” He doesn’t look at me. He’s lying.
“Tell me why you said drug addict,” I demand.
He shakes his head, running his hands over his hair. He
looks at me, then down at the floor. “It’s just an assumption,
okay?”
“And why would you assume that?” My eyes burn and my
throat aches at the thought. Hardin and his brilliant
assumptions.
“I don’t know, maybe because that guy who showed up to
pick him up looked like your everyday meth addict.” He looks
up at me with softness in his eyes. “Did you see the guy’s
arms?”
I remember the man scratching his forearms, but he was
wearing long sleeves. “My father is not a drug addict . . .” I
say slowly, unsure if I believe the words that are coming out of
my mouth, but knowing that I’m not ready to face the
possibility.
“You don’t even know him. I wasn’t even going to say
anything.” He steps toward me again, but I back away.
My bottom lip trembles, and I can’t look at him any longer.
“You don’t know him either. And if you weren’t going to say
anything, then why did you?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
My headache has now intensified, and I’m so exhausted
that I feel like I could pass out at any moment. “What was the
point of saying it, then?”
“I said it because it just came out, and he broke into our
fucking apartment.”
“You don’t know that.” He wouldn’t. Would he?
“Fine, Tessa, you go ahead and pretend that your dad—
who, may I remind you, is a drunk—is perfectly innocent
here.”
His nerve is outstanding, as always. He is calling my father
out for drinking? Hardin Scott is calling someone out for their
drinking, when he gets so drunk that he can barely remember
anything the next day?
“You’re a drunk, too!” I say and then instantly cover my
mouth.
“What did you say?” Any trace of sympathy drops from his
face. He eyes me like a predator, starts circling me.
I feel bad, but I can see he’s just trying to scare me into
staying quiet. He’s so unaware of himself and how he is. “If
you think about it, you are. You only drink when you’re upset
or angry; you don’t know when to stop drinking; and you’re a
mean drunk. You break things and get into fights—”
“I’m not a fucking drunk. I had stopped drinking altogether
until you came along.”
“You can’t blame me for everything, Hardin.” I ignore the
way my mind is reminding me that I, too, have been turning to
wine when I’m upset or angry.
“I’m not blaming you for the drinking, Tessa,” he says
pretty loudly.
“Two more days and neither of us will have to worry about
any of this!” I stalk out into the living room, and he follows.
“Would you just stop and listen to me?” he says in a tone
that’s electric, but at least it’s not yelling. “You know I don’t
want you to leave me.”
“Yeah, well, you do a pretty good job at showing me
otherwise.”
“What is that supposed to mean? I tell you how much I love
you on a constant!”
I see the flicker of doubt cross his face as he shouts the
words to me; he knows that he doesn’t show his love for me
enough. “You don’t even believe that yourself. I can tell.”
“Tell me this, then: you think you can find someone else to
put up with your shit? Your constant whining and bitching,
your annoying need to have everything in order, and your
attitude?” He waves his hands in the air in front of him.
I laugh. I laugh right in Hardin’s face; even with my hand
covering my mouth, I can’t stop. “My attitude? My attitude?
You are constantly disrespecting me—you’re borderline
emotionally abusive, obsessive, suffocating, and rude. You
came into my life, turned it upside down, and you expect me
to bow down to you because you have this idea of yourself
that is complete bullshit. You act like you’re this tough guy
who doesn’t give a crap about anyone but himself, yet you
can’t even sleep without me! I look past every single one of
your flaws, but I will not stand around and let you talk to me
like that.”
I pace back and forth across the concrete floor, and he
watches my every move. I feel slightly guilty for yelling at
him this way, but all it takes is remembering the words he just
said to me to refuel my anger toward him. “And by the way, I
may be a lot to handle sometimes, but that’s because I’m so
busy worrying about you and everyone else around me, and
trying not to piss you off, that I forget about myself. So excuse
me if I annoy you, or bitch at you when you’re constantly
lashing out at me for no damn reason!”
Hardin’s expression is grave. His hands are in fists at his
sides, and his cheeks are a deep red. “I don’t know what else
to do, okay? You know that I haven’t ever done this before,
you knew going into this that I’d be a challenge. You have no
right to bitch about it now.”
“ ‘No right to bitch about it’? This is my life, too, and I can
bitch about it if I fucking want to,” I say with a snort. He can’t
be serious. For a second, I thought the expression on his face
meant he’d apologize for the way he treats me, but I should
have known better. The problem with Hardin is that when he’s
good, he’s so good, so sweet and honest that I love him so; but
when he’s bad, he’s the most hateful person I have ever, and
will ever, encounter.
I walk back into the bedroom and open the suitcase, tossing
my clothes into a pile inside of it.
“Where are you going?” he asks me.
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. Away from you, I know
that.
“You know what your problem is, Theresa? Your problem
is that you read too many damn novels and you forget that
they’re all bullshit. There are no Darcys, there are only
Wickhams and Alec d’Urbervilles, so wake up and stop
expecting me to be some goddamned literary hero—because
it’s not going to fucking happen!”
His words wrap around me and seep into my every pore.
This is it. “This is exactly why we will never work. I have
tried and tried with you until I’m blue in the face, I have
forgiven you for the disgusting things you have done to me—
and to others—yet you still do this to me. Actually, I do this to
myself. I’m not a victim, I’m just a stupid girl who loves you
too much—yet still I mean nothing to you. Once I leave on
Monday, your life will go back to normal. You’ll still be the
same Hardin who doesn’t give a shit about anyone, and I will
be the one who is in pain and can barely function—but I did
that to myself. I let myself get wrapped up in you, wrapped
around your finger, knowing that it would end this way. I
thought that when we were separated before, you’d see that
you’re better off with me than alone, but that’s the thing,
Hardin. You aren’t better off with me. You’re better off alone.
You’ll always be alone. Even if you find another naïve girl
who’s willing to give everything up for you, including herself,
she, too, will grow tired of the back-and-forth and leave you
just the way I . . .”
Hardin stares at me. His eyes are bloodshot, his hands are
shaking, and I know he’s about to lose it. “Go on, Tessa! Tell
me that you’re leaving me. Better yet, don’t. Just pack your
shit and get out.”
“Stop trying to hold yourself together,” I tell him, angry,
but also pleading inside. “You’re trying not to break, but you
know you want to. If you’d just let yourself show me how you
really feel—”
“You know nothing of how I really feel. Leave!” His voice
catches at the end, and I want nothing more than to wrap my
arms around him and tell him I would never leave him.
But I can’t.
“All you have to do is tell me. Please, Hardin, just tell me
that you’ll try, really try this time.” I’m begging him; I don’t
know what else to do. I don’t want to leave him, even though I
know I have to.
He stands there, only a few feet away from me, and I can
see him shutting down. Every glimmer of light that my Hardin
holds is disappearing slowly, burning out into darkness, and
taking the man I love further and further away from me. When
he finally tears his eyes away from me and crosses his arms in
front of his chest, I can see the way that he’s gone now; I’ve
lost him.
“I don’t want to try anymore. I am who I am, and if that’s
not good enough, then you know where the door is.”
“That’s what you want, then? You’re not even willing to
try? If I leave, this time it’ll be for good. I know you don’t
believe me because I always say it—but it’s true. Just tell me
you’re only acting this way because you’re panicking over me
going to Seattle.”
Staring at the wall behind me, he simply says, “I’m sure
you can find somewhere to stay until Monday.”
When I don’t respond, he turns on his heel and leaves the
room. I stand in place, shocked that he hasn’t came back to put
up more of a fight. Minutes pass before I finally pick up the
pieces of me that he has shattered and pack my bags for the
last time.
chapter fifty-three
HARDIN
My mouth keeps saying shit that my mind doesn’t want it to
say, but it’s like I have absolutely no control over it. Obviously
I don’t want her to leave. I want to pull her into my arms and
kiss her hair. I want to tell her that I’ll do anything for her, that
I’ll change for her and love her until I die. Instead, I walk out
and leave her standing alone.
I hear her rustling around the bedroom. I know I should go
in there and stop her from packing, but what’s the point,
really? She’s leaving Monday, anyway; she may as well leave
now. I’m still astounded that she brought up trying a long-
distance relationship. It would never work, her being hours
away from me, only calling once or twice a day, not sleeping
in the same bed. I couldn’t do it.
At least if our relationship is terminated, I won’t feel guilty
for drinking and doing whatever the hell I choose to do . . . But
who am I kidding—it’s not even that I want to do anything
else. I’d rather sit on the couch and have her force me to watch
Friends over and over than spend one minute doing something
without her.
Moments later, Tessa appears in the hallway dragging two
suitcases behind her. Her purse is slung over her shoulder, and
her face is pale. “I don’t think I forgot anything except some
books, but I’ll just get new copies,” she says in a low, shaky
voice.
This is it—this is the moment I’ve feared since the day I
met this girl. She’s leaving me, and here I am, doing nothing to
stop her. I can’t stop her; she was always meant to do things
greater than me, be with someone better than me. I knew that
from the start. I was just hoping that somehow I would be
wrong, as always.
Instead of all that, I simply say, “Okay.”
“Okay.” She gulps and squares her shoulders. When she
reaches the door, she raises her arm to grab her keys from the
hook, and her purse slides down her shoulder. I don’t know
what’s wrong with me; I should stop her, or help her, but I
can’t.
Tessa looks back at me. “Well, that’s it, then. All the
fighting, the crying, the lovemaking, the laughs—everything—
it was all for nothing,” she says softly. No anger tints her
words. Just a blank . . . blank neutrality.
I nod, unable to speak. If I could speak, I would make this
one hundred times harder on both of us. I know it.
She shakes her head and opens the door, holding it open
with her foot so she can drag the suitcases behind her.
Once she’s through the door, she looks over at me and says
so quietly that it’s barely audible, “I will always love you. I
hope you know that.”
Stop talking, Tessa. Please.
“And someone else will, too, hopefully as much as I do.”
“Shh,” I gently coax. I can’t listen to this.
“You won’t always be alone. I know I said that, but if you
just get some help or something, learn to control your anger,
you could find some—”
I swallow the bile rising in my throat and step to the
doorway. “Go, just go,” I say, and shut the door in her face.
Even through its thick wood, I can hear her sharp intake of
breath.
I just slammed the door in her face—what the fuck is wrong
with me?
I begin to panic, and let the pain course through me. I held
it for so long, barely controlled, until she walked away. My
fingers go to my hair, my knees hit the concrete floor, and I
simply don’t know what to do with myself. I’m officially the
world’s largest fuckup, and there’s nothing I can do about it. It
sounds so simple: just go to Seattle with her and live happily
ever after, but it’s not that damn simple. Everything will be
different there: she’ll be absorbed in her internship and new
classes; she’ll make new friends, experience new things—
better things—and forget about me. She won’t need me
anymore. I wipe at the tears pooling in my eyes.
What? For the first time I realize just how selfish I am.
“Make new friends”? What’s so bad about her making new
friends and experiencing new things? I would be there, right
next to her, experiencing them, too. Why did I go to such
lengths to keep her from Seattle instead of embracing this
opportunity for her? This opportunity to prove that I could be
part of something she wanted. That’s all she asked of me, and I
couldn’t fucking deliver.
If I call her right now, she’ll turn the car around and I can
pack my shit and find us somewhere, anywhere, to live in
Seattle . . .
No, she won’t, she won’t turn around. She gave me the
chance to stop her, and I didn’t even try. She even tried to
make me feel better while I was watching every ounce of faith
she had in me die right in front of my eyes. I should have been
comforting her, but instead I slammed the door in her face.
You won’t always be alone, she said. She’s wrong: I will be,
but she won’t. She’ll find someone to love her the way that I
couldn’t. No one will ever love that girl more than me, but
perhaps they can show her how it feels to be loved, how it
feels to have someone love you despite all the shit you put
them through, the way she was always there for me, always.
And she deserves to have that. Thinking about the fact that
getting what she deserves means being with someone else
makes it hard for me to breathe. But this is the way it should
be. I should have let her go a long time ago instead of sinking
my claws further into her and making her waste her time on
me.
I’m divided. Half of me knows she’ll come back to me
tonight, maybe tomorrow, and forgive me. But the other half
of me knows she really is done trying to fix me.
SOMETIME LATER, I pull myself up from the floor and pad
into the bedroom. When I get there, I nearly collapse again.
The bracelet I had made for her sits on top of a piece of paper,
alongside her e-reader and a copy of Wuthering Heights. I pick
up the bracelet, twirl the infinity heart charm between my
fingers, and look at the matching tattoo on my wrist.
Why would she leave this here? It was a gift from me to her,
at a time when I was desperate to show my love for her. I
needed her love and forgiveness, and she gave it to me. To my
horror, the piece of paper under the bracelet is the handwritten
letter that I wrote her. As I unfold it and read it over, my chest
is slowly ripped open and its contents are tossed onto the hard
floor. Memories flood my fucked-up mind: the first time I told
her that I loved her, then took it back; the date with the blond
girl that I tried to replace her with; the way I felt when I saw
her standing in the doorway after reading the letter. I continue
reading.
You love me when you shouldn’t, and I need you. I
have always needed you and always will. When you left
me just last week it nearly killed me, I was lost. So
completely lost without you. I went on a date with
someone last week. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I can’t
stand to chance losing you again.
My fingers tremble, and I nearly tear the flimsy paper
trying to hold it still enough to read.
I know you can do better than me. I’m not romantic, I
won’t ever write you poetry or sing you a song.
I’m not even kind.
I can’t promise that I won’t hurt you again, but I can
swear that I will love you until the day that I die. I’m a
terrible person, and I don’t deserve you, but I hope that
you’ll allow me the chance to restore your faith in me. I
am sorry for all the pain I have caused you, and I
understand if you can’t forgive me.
She did forgive me, though. She’s always forgiven me for
my wrongs, but not this time. I was supposed to be restoring
her faith in me, yet I continued to hurt her over and over again.
My hands work quickly, tearing the pathetic confession into
pieces. Falling, they swirl around before settling into a
scattered pattern on the cold concrete.
See—I destroy everything! I know how much that damn
thing meant to her, and I turned it into a pile of shit.
“No! No, no, no!” I scurry to the ground and frantically try
to gather the pieces and restore the page. But there are too
many little bits—none of them line up, and I keep dropping
them back onto the floor and watching them float here and
there. This must be how she felt trying to put me back
together. I stand and kick my boot at the pile of scraps I’ve
gathered before quickly bending down and picking them up
again and putting them in a pile on the desk. Covering them
with a book so they can’t blow away, I see I’ve grabbed Pride
and Prejudice, of fucking course.
I lie back on the bed and wait for the sound of the door
clicking open, signaling her return.
I must wait there for hours and hours, but the click never
comes.
chapter fifty-four
TESSA
I lie to Steph. I don’t want to tell anyone about my
relationship problems, especially right now, when I haven’t
had a chance to process what just happened. And that’s exactly
why I called Steph: Landon is too close to the situation, and I
don’t want to trouble him again. I have no other options,
which is what happens when you have exactly one friend and
they happen to be your boyfriend’s stepbrother.
Well, ex-boyfriend, now . . .
So when Steph sounds concerned on the phone, I tell her,
“No, no. I’m fine. I just . . . Hardin is . . . he’s out of town with
his father, and he locked me out, so I need somewhere to stay
until he comes home Monday.”
“Sounds like Hardin,” she says, and I feel relieved that my
lie has worked. “Okay, come on over. Same room as before—
it’ll be just like old times!” she goes on cheerily, and I try to
muster a little laugh.
Great. Old times.
“I’m supposed to be going to the mall with Tristan later, but
you can hang out here if you want, or come along. It’s up to
you.”
“I have a lot to do to get ready for Seattle, so I’ll just hang
around the room, if that’s all right.”
“Sure, sure.” Then she adds, “I hope you’re ready for your
party tomorrow night!”
“Party?” I question.
Oh yeah . . . the party. I’ve been so preoccupied with
everything that I forgot about the party Steph planned for my
going away. As with Hardin’s “birthday party,” I’m pretty sure
his crew would be hanging out and drinking regardless of
whether I showed up or not, but she seems like she really
wants me to go, and since I’m asking her this big favor, I want
to be nice.
“One last time, come on! I know Hardin probably said no,
but—”
“Hardin doesn’t decide what I do,” I remind her, and she
laughs.
“I know! I’m just saying, we won’t ever see each other
again. I’m moving and so are you,” she whines.
“Okay, let me think about it. I’m on my way over now,” I
say. But instead of heading straight to her dorm, I drive around
a bit. I have to make sure I’ll be able to hold myself together in
front of her; no crying at all. No crying. No crying. I bite down
on my cheek again to stop myself from giving in to the tears.
Luckily I’m used to the pain by now. I’m practically numb
to it.
By the time I get to Steph’s room, she’s in the process of
getting dressed. She’s pulling a red dress down over some
black fishnet stockings when she opens the door with a smile.
“I’ve missed you!” she squeals and pulls me in for a hug.
I nearly lose it, but I hold firm. “I missed you, too, even
though it hasn’t been that long.” I smile and she nods. It feels
like ages ago that Hardin and I met her at the tattoo shop, not a
mere week.
“Guess so. It seems like it, though.” She grabs a pair of
knee-high boots from her closet and sits down on the bed. “I
shouldn’t be gone too long. Make yourself at home . . . but
don’t clean anything!” she says, noticing the way my eyes are
scanning the messy room.
“I wasn’t going to!” I lie.
“You so were! And you probably still will.” She laughs,
and I try to force myself to do the same. It doesn’t work, and I
end up making a noise between a snort and a cough, though
fortunately she doesn’t call me out on it.
“I already told everyone you’d be there, by the way. They
were excited!” she adds right as she walks out of the room and
shuts the door. I open my mouth to protest, but she’s already
gone.
This room brings back too many memories. I hate it, but
love it at the same time. My old side is still empty, although
Steph has covered the bed in clothes and shopping bags. I run
my fingers along the footboard, remembering the first time
Hardin slept in the small bed with me.
I can’t wait to get away from this campus—from this entire
town and all the people in it. I’ve had nothing but heartbreak
since the day I arrived at WCU, and I wish I’d never come in
the first place.
Even the wall reminds me of Hardin and the time he tossed
my notes around the room, making me want to slap him, until
he kissed me, hard, up against it. My fingers move to my lips,
tracing the shape of them, and they tremble at the thought of
never kissing him again.
I don’t think I can stay in this room tonight. My mind will
be reeling the entire time; memories will be haunting me,
playing behind my eyes each time they close.
Needing to find something to do to keep myself distracted,
I take out my laptop and try to search for somewhere to live in
Seattle. Just as I suspected, it’s a lost cause. The only
apartment that I can find is a thirty-minute drive from Vance
Publishing’s new office, and it’s slightly over my budget. I
save the phone number in my cell anyway.
After another hour of searching, I end up swallowing my
pride and call Kimberly. I didn’t want to ask her if I could stay
with her and Christian, but Hardin has left me no choice.
Being Kimberly, of course, she happily obliges, emphasizing
how delighted they’ll be to host me at their new house in
Seattle and bragging a little that it’s even bigger than what
they’re in now.
I promise her that I won’t stay longer than two weeks,
hoping to buy myself enough time to find an affordable
apartment that doesn’t come with bars across the windows.
Suddenly I realize that with all the Hardin drama I’ve been
dealing with, I’d almost forgotten about the mess at the
apartment and the fact that someone broke into it while we
were gone. I’d like to think it wasn’t my father, but I just don’t
know if I can believe that. If it was him, he didn’t steal
anything; maybe he just needed a place to stay for the night
and he didn’t have anywhere else to go. I pray that Hardin
doesn’t hunt him down and accuse him of the break-in. What
would be the point? Still, I probably should try to find him
first, but it’s getting late, and honestly, I’m a little afraid to be
on that side of town alone.
I WAKE UP when Steph stumbles into the room around
midnight, tripping over her own feet as she falls onto her bed.
I don’t remember falling asleep at the desk, and my neck aches
when I lift up my head. When I run my hands over it, it hurts
worse than before.
“Don’t forget your party tomorrow,” she mumbles and
passes out almost immediately.
I walk over and take her boots off her feet while she begins
to snore, quietly thanking her for being a good friend to me
and letting me stay in her room with only an hour’s warning.
She groans and says something incoherent before rolling
over and snoring again.
I’VE BEEN LYING in my old bed reading all day. I don’t
want to go anywhere or talk to anyone, and I especially don’t
want to run into Hardin, though I doubt I would. He has no
reason to be anywhere near here, but I’m paranoid and
heartbroken and don’t want to take any chances.
Steph doesn’t wake up until after four in the afternoon.
“I’m going to order pizza—do you want some?” she asks,
wiping last night’s heavy eyeliner from her eyes with a small
napkin from her purse.
“Yes, please.” My stomach growls, reminding me that I
haven’t eaten once today.
Steph and I spend the next two hours eating and talking
about her upcoming move to Louisiana, and how Tristan’s
parents are less than pleased with him transferring schools
because of her.
“I’m sure they’ll come around—they liked you, right?” I
encourage her.
“Yeah, sort of. But his family is obsessed with WCU and
something like legacy blah blah blah.” She rolls her eyes, and I
laugh, not wanting to explain to her what it means to families
to continue a legacy.
“So, the party. Do you know what you’re wearing yet?” she
asks, smiling wickedly. “Or do you want to borrow something
of mine for old times’ sake?”
I shake my head. “I can’t believe I’m even agreeing to this
after . . .” I almost mention Hardin, but I redirect. “. . . after all
the times you’ve forced me to come to these parties in the
past.”
“But it’s the last one. Plus, you know you won’t find
anyone even remotely as cool as us to hang with at the Seattle
campus.” She bats her long false lashes at me, and I groan.
“I remember when I first saw you. I opened the door to this
room and nearly had a heart attack. No offense.” I smile, and
she returns it. “You said the parties were big, and my mother
nearly passed out. She wanted me to switch rooms, but I
wouldn’t . . .”
“Good thing you didn’t or you wouldn’t be dating Hardin,”
she says with a smirk, then looks away from me. For a
moment I fantasize what it would have been like if I had
changed rooms and never seen him again. Despite everything
we’ve been through, I would never want to take any of it back.
“Enough reminiscing—let’s get ready!” she cheers,
clapping her hands in front of my face before she grabs me by
the arms and drags me off the bed.
“NOW I REMEMBER why I hated communal showers,” I
groan, while towel-drying my hair.
“They aren’t so bad.” Steph laughs, and I roll my eyes,
thinking about the shower at the apartment. Every single thing
reminds me of Hardin, and I’m doing my best to keep this fake
smile going, but inside I’m burning.
Finally, my makeup applied and hair curled, Steph helps zip
me into the yellow-and-black dress that I bought just recently.
The only thing keeping me standing and present right now is
the hope that the party may in fact be fun and I can have at
least two hours of peace.
Tristan arrives a little after eight to pick us up; Steph
refuses to let me drive, because she plans on having me drink
until I can’t see straight. Which is an idea I think I like. If I
can’t see straight, then I can’t see Hardin’s dimpled smile or
scowl before me every time I open my eyes. Still, it won’t stop
me imagining him when my eyes are closed.
“Where’s Hardin tonight?” Nate asks from the passenger
seat, and I panic momentarily.
“Gone. Out of town with his father,” I lie.
“Aren’t you two leaving Monday for Seattle?”
“Yeah, that’s the plan.” I feel my palms beginning to sweat.
I hate lying and I’m terrible at it.
Nate turns around and offers me a sweet smile. “Well, good
luck to both of you. Wish I could’ve seen him before he left.”
The burn increases. “Thanks, Nate. I’ll let him know you
said that.”
When we pull up to the frat house, I immediately regret my
decision to come. I knew this was a bad idea, but I wasn’t
thinking clearly and felt I needed a distraction. This isn’t a
distraction, however. This is one big reminder of everything
I’ve been through and everything I’ve subsequently lost.
It’s almost humorous, the way I regret coming here every
single time but somehow always end up at this damn frat
house.
“Showtime,” Steph says and hooks her arm through mine
with a wild smile.
For a second her eyes brighten, and I can’t help but feel as
if there’s something else behind her choice of words.
chapter fifty-five
HARDIN
When I knock on the door to my father’s office, I feel
nauseous. I can’t believe it’s come to this, to me seeking him
out for advice. I just need someone to listen to me, someone
who knows how I feel, or close to it.
His voice sounds from inside the room. “Come in, dear.” I
hesitate before entering, knowing this is going to be
uncomfortable but necessary. I sit down in the chair in front of
his large desk, watching his expression change from expectant
to surprised.
A little laugh escapes his mouth. “Sorry, I thought you were
Karen.” But then, seeing my mood, he stops, watching me
carefully.
I nod, then look away. “I don’t know why I’m here, but I
don’t know where else to go.” I lay my head in my hands, and
my father takes a seat on the edge of his mahogany desk.
“I’m glad you came to me,” he says quietly, gauging my
reaction.
“I wouldn’t exactly say I came to you,” I remind him. I did
in fact come to him, but I don’t want him thinking this is some
big revelation or some shit, even though it sort of maybe is. I
watch as he gulps and nods slowly, his eyes moving
everywhere in the room except to me.
“You don’t have to be nervous; I’m not going to throw a fit
or break anything. I don’t have the energy.” I stare at the rows
of plaques on the wall behind him.
When he doesn’t respond, I let out a sigh.
Of course that seems to prompt him, that sign of my defeat,
and he says, “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“No. I don’t,” I say and look at the books along his wall.
“Okay . . .”
I sigh, feeling the inevitability of this moment. “I don’t
want to, but I’m going to, I guess.”
My father looks puzzled for a moment, and his brown eyes
widen, taking me in, watching me carefully, waiting for the
catch, I’m sure.
“Believe me,” I say. “If I had anyone else to go to, I
wouldn’t be here, but Landon is a biased asshole and always
takes her side.” I know this isn’t even half true, but I don’t
want Landon’s advice right now. More than that, I don’t want
to admit to him what a dick I’ve been and the shit I’ve said to
Tessa over the last few days. His opinion doesn’t really matter
to me, but for some reason it matters more than anyone else’s,
save Tessa’s, of course.
My father gives me a pained smile. “I know that, son.”
“Good.”
I don’t know where to start, and honestly, I’m still not sure
what brought me here. I had every intention of going to a bar
to have a drink, but somehow I ended up pulling into my
father’s . . . no, my dad’s driveway. The way Tessa only says
“mother” and “father” instead of “mom” or “dad” used to
drive me insane; but now it’s crept into my speech, too. He’s
lucky I’m even referring to him as “father” or “dad” instead of
“Ken” or “asshole”—as I’ve done for most of my life.
“Well, as you’ve probably guessed, Tessa finally left me,” I
admit, and look up at him. He does his best to keep a neutral
expression while he waits for me to continue, but all I add is
“And I didn’t stop her.”
“You’re sure she won’t be back?” he asks.
“Yes, I’m sure. She gave me multiple opportunities to stop
her, and she hasn’t tried to call or text in”—I glance at the
clock on the wall—“almost twenty-eight hours, and I don’t
have the slightest clue where she is.”
I was expecting her car to be in the driveway when I arrived
at Ken and Karen’s. I’m sure it’s one of the reasons I headed
over here to begin with. Where else could she even be? I hope
she didn’t drive all the way to her mum’s house.
“You’ve done this before, though,” my father begins. “The
two of you always seem to find a way—”
“Are you listening to me? I said she isn’t coming back,” I
huff, interrupting him.
“I’m listening. I’m just curious as to what makes this time
different from the others.”
When I glare at him, he’s staring impassively at me, and I
resist the urge to get up and leave his overdecorated office. “It
just is. I don’t know how I know that—and you probably think
I’m a dumb-ass for even coming here—but I’m tired, Dad. I’m
so fucking tired of being this way, and I don’t know what to do
about it.”
Fuck. I sound so desperate and fucking pathetic.
He opens his mouth a little, but he stops himself and
doesn’t say anything.
“I blame you,” I go on. “I really do blame you. Because if
you’d been around for me, maybe you could have shown me
how to . . . I don’t know—how to not treat people like shit. If
I’d had a man in the house while growing up, maybe I
wouldn’t be such a shitty person. If I don’t find some
resolution for Tessa and me, I’m going to end up just like you.
Well, you before you became this.” I gesture to his sweater
vest and perfectly pressed dress slacks. “If I can’t find a way
to stop hating you, I’ll never be able to . . .”
I don’t want to finish the sentence in front of him. What I
want to say is that if I can’t stop hating him, I’ll never be able
to show her how much I love her and treat her the way I
should, the way she deserves.
My unspoken words linger there in the stuffy, wood-
paneled study like a tortured spirit neither one of us knows
how to exorcise.
“You’re right.” He surprises me by agreeing at last.
“I am?”
“Yes, you are. If you’d had a father to guide you and show
you how to be a man, you’d be better equipped to handle these
things, and life in general. I’ve blamed myself for your . . .”—I
watch as he struggles for the words, and find myself leaning
forward a little—“behavior. The way you are is my fault. It all
stems from me and from the mistakes I made. I’ll carry the
guilt for my sins for the entirety of my life, and for those sins,
I am so, so sorry, son.” His voice catches at the end, and
suddenly I feel . . . I feel . . .
Incredibly nauseous. “Well, that’s great, that you can be
forgiven, but the result is how I am now! What am I supposed
to do about it now?” I pick at the torn skin around my
fingernails and note that my knuckles are surprisingly not
busted, for once. Somehow that takes some of the anger out of
me. “There has to be something,” I say softly.
“I think you should talk to someone,” he suggests.
But his answer feels insufficient, and the anger flares back.
No shit I should talk to someone—you don’t fucking say? I
wave my hand into the open space between us. “What are we
doing right now? We’re talking.”
“I’m referring to a professional,” he replies calmly. “You’re
holding on to a lot of anger from your childhood, and unless
you find some way to let it go, or at least deal with it in a
healthy way, I’m afraid you won’t make any progress at all. I
can’t be the one to give you these tools; I caused you all this
pain to begin with, and in your angrier moments you’d doubt
what I had to say, even if it was helpful.”
“So coming here was a waste of my time, then? There’s
nothing you can do?” I knew I should’ve hit the bar. I could be
on my second whiskey and Coke by now.
“It wasn’t a waste of time. It was a really big step in your
efforts to become a better person.” He makes eye contact with
me again, and I can literally taste the whiskey that I should be
drinking right now instead of having this conversation. “She’ll
be so proud of you,” he adds.
Proud? Why the hell would anyone be proud of me?
Shocked that I’m here maybe, but proud . . . no.
“She called me a drunk,” I confess without thinking.
“Is she right?” he asks, concern clear on his face.
“I don’t know. I don’t think I am, but I don’t know.”
“If you don’t know if you’re a drunk, you may want to find
out the answer before it becomes too late.”
I study my father’s face and can see real fear for me behind
his eyes. He has the fear maybe I should have. “Why did you
start drinking in the first place?” I probe. I’ve always wanted
to know the answer to that question, but I’ve never really felt
like I could ask.
He sighs, and his hand moves up to smooth his short hair.
“Well, your mum and I weren’t at the best place at the time,
and the downward spiral started when I left one night and got
drunk. By ‘drunk,’ I mean I couldn’t even walk home, but I
found that I liked the way I felt, immobile or not. It numbed
me to all the pain I was feeling, and it became a habit after
that. I spent more time at that damned bar across the street
than I did with you and her. It got to the point where I couldn’t
function without the liquor, but I wasn’t really functioning
with it either. It was a losing battle.”
I don’t remember anything before my father became a
drunk; I had always assumed he was like that since before I
was born. “What was so painful that you were trying to
escape?”
“That’s not important. What’s important is that I finally
woke up one day and got sober.”
“After you left us,” I remind him.
“Yes, son, after I left you both. You both were better off
without me. I was in no position to be a father or a husband.
Your mum did an excellent job raising you—I wish she hadn’t
had to do it alone, but it turned out better than with me
around.”
Anger churns and heats inside me, and I press my fingers
into the armrests of the chair. “But you can be a husband to
Karen, and a father to Landon.”
There, I said it. I have so much fucking resentment toward
this man who was a drunk asshole my entire life—who fucked
up my life—but who manages to remarry and take on a new
son and new life. Not to mention he’s rich now, and we didn’t
have shit while I was growing up. Karen and Landon have
everything that my mum and I should have had.
“I know it seems that way, Hardin, but it’s not true. I met
Karen two years after I stopped drinking. Landon was already
sixteen, and I wasn’t trying to be a father figure to him. He
didn’t grow up with a man in the house either, so he was quick
to embrace me. It wasn’t my intention to have a new family
and ‘replace’ you—I could never replace you. You never
wanted anything to do with me—and I don’t blame you for
that—but, son, I spent most of my life living in the dark—a
blinding, desolate darkness. And Karen was my light, the way
Tessa is for you.”
My heart nearly stops at the mention of Tessa. I was so lost
in reliving my shitty childhood that I was able to stop thinking
about her for a moment.
“I couldn’t help but be happy and grateful that Karen came
into my life, Landon included,” Ken continues. “I’d give
anything to have a relationship with you the way I do with
him; maybe one day that could happen.”
I can see that my father is out of breath after his long
confession, and I’m left speechless. I’ve never had this type of
conversation with him, or with anyone in my life but Tessa.
She always seems to be the exception.
I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t forgive him for
fucking up my life and choosing liquor over my mum, but I
meant what I said about trying to forgive him. If I don’t, I’ll
never be able to be normal. Really, I’m not even sure I’ll ever
be able to be “normal” anyway, but I want to be able to go a
week without breaking something, or someone.
The humiliation on Tessa’s face when I told her to leave the
apartment is clear in my mind. But instead of fighting it like I
always do, I embrace it. I need to be reminded of what I did to
her—no more hiding from the consequences of my actions.
“You haven’t said anything,” my dad says, interrupting my
thoughts. The image of Tessa’s face begins to fade, and though
I try to hang on to it, it slips away. The only comfort I have is
in knowing that it’ll be back to haunt me soon enough.
“I don’t really know what the hell to say. This has been a
lot for me; I don’t know what to think,” I admit. The honesty
in my words terrifies me, and I wait for him to make shit
awkward.
But he doesn’t. He just nods in agreement and stands to his
feet. “Karen is making a late dinner, if you want to stay.”
“No, I’ll pass,” I groan. I want to go home. The only
problem with home is that Tessa isn’t there. And that’s my
own damn fault.
I RAN INTO LANDON in the hallway as I was leaving, but I
ignored him and left before he could try to force his
unsolicited advice on me. I should’ve asked him where Tessa
was; I’m desperate to know. But I also know myself and that
I’d show up wherever she is and try to convince her to leave
with me. I need to be with her, wherever she is. Listening to
my dad’s explanation of why he was such a shitty father to me
was a step in the right direction, but I’m not miraculously
going to be able to stop being a controlling bastard all of a
sudden. And if Tessa is somewhere that I don’t want her to be
—like with Zed, for example . . .
Is she with Zed? Holy shit, would she be with him? I don’t
think so, but it’s not like I’ve given her the option of having
many friends. And if she isn’t with Landon . . .
No, she’s not with Zed. She’s just not.
I continue to convince myself of this as I ride the elevator
up to our apartment. Half of me hopes that whoever the
asshole was that broke into our apartment is back now; I could
really use an outlet for my mounting anger.
A chill runs down my back and over my entire body. What
if Tessa had been home alone when the intruder broke in? The
image of her flushed, tearstained face from my nightmares
flashes in front of me, and my body goes rigid. If anyone ever
tried to hurt her, it would be the last thing they ever fucking
did.
I’m such a fucking hypocrite! Here I am, threatening to kill
someone for hurting her when that’s all I seem capable of
doing.
After grabbing some water and looking around the empty
apartment for a few minutes, I start to get antsy. To keep
myself busy, I sort through Tessa’s book collection. She left
too many behind, and I know it killed her to do so. Just more
evidence of how toxic I am.
A leather notebook hidden between two different editions
of Emma catches my eye, and I run my fingers along the clasp.
Pulling it out, I sift through the pages to find that Tessa’s
handwriting fills each page. Is this some sort of diary that I
didn’t know she was keeping?
Introduction to World Religion is written neatly on the first
page. I sit down on the bed with the book in my hands and
begin to read.
chapter fifty-six
TESSA
Logan calls to me from the other side of the kitchen, but when
it’s clear I can’t hear him, he walks over to me. “It was cool of
you to come. I wasn’t sure if you were going to!” he says with
a big smile.
“I wouldn’t miss my own going-away party,” I say, tilting
the red cup in my shaky hands as a sort of toast.
“I’ve missed you around here; no one has choked Molly in
a while.” He laughs and tips his head back, pouring clear
liquor straight from the bottle down his throat. He swallows it
down, blinks, then clears his throat, shaking his head in a way
that makes me cringe at the thought of how bad that had to
burn.
“You’ll always be my hero for that,” he teases and offers
the bottle to me.
I shake my head and hold up the half-empty cup in my
hand. “I’m sure it won’t be long until someone else comes
along and does it again.” I take a moment to smile at the
thought.
“Uh-oh! Speak of the devil,” Logan says, his eyes focused
behind me.
I don’t want to turn around. “Why?” I quietly groan,
leaning one elbow on the counter. When Logan playfully
offers me the bottle again, I accept it.
“Drink up.” He smiles and walks away, leaving me with the
bottle.
Molly comes into my line of vision and lifts her red cup to
me in greeting. “As sad as I am that you’re moving away,” she
says, her voice deceptively soft and sweet, “I’m glad I won’t
have to see you again. I’ll miss Hardin, though . . . the things
that boy can do with his tongue . . .”
I roll my eyes at her while I try to think of a comeback but
fail. Jealousy runs like ice through my veins, and I
contemplate choking her again, right here, right now.
“Oh, go away,” I eventually say, and she laughs. It’s a
hideous noise, really.
“Oh, come on, Tessa. I was your first enemy at college—
that counts for something, right?” She winks and bumps her
hip into mine as she walks past me.
This party was a terrible idea; I knew better than to come to
this place, especially without Hardin. Steph has disappeared,
and while Logan was nice enough to keep me company for a
minute, he’s since found a more available girl to occupy
himself with. When I first see the girl, she’s in profile, and she
looks preppy and wholesome, but when she turns and I
glimpse her from the front, I’m shocked to see that the other
half of her face is full of tattoos. Ouch. I begin to wonder if
they’re actually permanent as I pour a little more liquor into
my cup. I plan to nurse this drink all night and sip it very
slowly. Otherwise the facade that I’ve been struggling to hold
up will crumble and fall, and I’ll end up being that annoying
drunk girl who cries every time someone looks at her.
I force myself to walk a slow lap around the house in search
of Steph’s crimson hair, but she’s nowhere to be found. When
I finally spot Nate’s familiar face, I see he, too, is working on
some girl, and I don’t want to interrupt. I feel so out of place
here. Not just because I don’t exactly fit in with this crowd,
but because I have this feeling that even though this party was
labeled as our “going-away party,” I don’t get the sense that
anyone here actually cares if Hardin and I disappear. Perhaps
they’d show more interest if Hardin had actually come along
with me; he is their friend, after all.
After sitting alone at the kitchen counter for nearly an hour,
I finally hear Steph’s voice exclaim, “There you are!” By this
point I’ve eaten an entire bowl of pretzels, and I’m up to two
drinks. I’ve been debating whether to call a cab or not, but
now that Steph has finally surfaced again, I’ll try to hang in a
little longer. Tristan, Molly, and Dan are behind her, and I do
my best to keep a neutral expression.
I miss Hardin.
“I thought you left or something!” I call over the music,
distracting myself from thoughts of how wrong it feels to be
here without Hardin. For the past hour, I’d been battling
myself to stay away from his old bedroom upstairs; I want to
go in there so badly, to hide from the uncomfortable mass of
people, to reminisce . . . I don’t know. I keep finding my gaze
gravitating toward the stairs, and it’s killing me slowly.
“No way! I got you a drink.” Steph smiles and takes the cup
that’s already in my hand. She replaces it with an identical one
filled with pink liquid. “Cherry vodka sour, duh!” she squeals
at my confusion, and I force an awkward laugh out while I
raise the cup to my lips.
“To your last party with us!” Steph cheers, and multiple
strangers lift their cups in the air. Molly looks away as I tilt my
head back and allow the sweet cherry flavoring to flood my
mouth.
“Talk about good timing,” Molly says to Steph, and I turn
around quickly. I can’t decide if I want the person who’s just
arrived to be Hardin or not, but my dilemma is settled for me
when Zed walks into the kitchen dressed in all black.
My mouth falls open slightly, and I turn back to Steph.
“You said he wouldn’t be here.” The last thing I need right
now is another reminder of the mess I’ve made of my life. I
said my goodbyes to Zed already, and I’m not prepared to
reopen the wounds that came from being friends with him.
“Sorry,” she says with a shrug. “He just showed up. I didn’t
know.” She leans into Tristan.
I give her a look emboldened by alcohol. “Are you sure this
party is even for me?” I know I sound ungrateful, but the fact
that Steph has invited Zed and Molly really bothers me. If
Hardin had come, he’d have lost it for sure when Zed entered
the kitchen.
“Of course it is! Look, I’m sorry he’s here. I’ll tell him to
stay away from you,” she assures me and begins to walk
toward Zed, but I grab her arm.
“No, don’t. I don’t want to be mean. It’s fine.”
Zed is in conversation with a blond girl who follows him
farther into the kitchen. He’s smiling down at her as she
laughs, but when he looks up and notices my presence, his
smile fades. His eyes dart to Steph and Tristan, but they both
avoid his gaze and leave the room with Molly and Dan in tow.
Once again I’m left alone.
I watch as Zed leans down and says something in the
blonde’s ear, after which she smiles and walks away from him.
“Hey.” He smiles awkwardly and shifts on his feet when he
reaches me.
“Hey.” I take another sip from my cup.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” we say in unison and then
laugh uncomfortably.
He grins and says, “You first.”
I’m relieved that he doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge
against me.
“I was just saying that I had no idea you were coming.”
“And I had no idea that you were coming either.”
“I thought so. Steph keeps saying that this is some kind of
going-away party for me, but I’m positive now that she was
just saying it to be nice.”
I take another sip. The cherry vodka sour is much stronger
than the other two drinks I had. “You . . . you’re here with
Steph?” he asks, closing the space between us.
“Yeah. Hardin isn’t here, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“No, I . . .” His eyes move to my hand as I place the empty
cup on the counter. “What is that?”
“Cherry vodka sour. Ironic, isn’t it?” I say, but he doesn’t
laugh. Which surprises me, given they’re his favorite drink.
Instead, his face twists in confusion as he looks from my face,
back down to the cup, and up to my face again.
“Did Steph give you that?” His tone is serious . . . too
serious . . . and my mind is slow.
Too slow. “Yeah . . . so?”
“Fuck.” He snatches the cup from the counter. “Stay here,”
he commands, and I nod slowly. I notice that my head is
starting to feel kind of heavy. I try to focus on Zed as he
disappears from the kitchen, but I find myself distracted by the
way the lights above my head seem to be spinning round and
round. The lights are so pretty, so distracting in the way
they’re dancing on people’s heads.
The lights dancing? They do dance . . . I should dance.
No, I should sit down.
I lean into the counter and focus on the warped wall, the
way it curves and twists, blending into the lights that shine on
people’s heads . . . or are they shining on the people who are
dancing? Either way it’s pretty . . . and disorienting as well . . .
and the truth is that I’m not sure what’s actually happening.
chapter fifty-seven
HARDIN
Scanning through the pages of the little notebook, I’m having
a hard time deciding where to start reading. It’s a journal from
Tessa’s religion class; it took me a minute to figure out what
the hell it was, because despite the title on the front, each entry
is labeled with a word and a date, most of them having nothing
to do with religion. It’s also less structured than the essays I’ve
seen Tessa write, a little more stream-of-conscious.
Pain. The word catches my eye, and I begin to read.
Does pain turn people away from their God? If so,
how?
Pain can turn anyone away from just about anything.
Pain is capable of causing you to do things you would
never consider doing, such as blaming God for your
unhappiness.
Pain . . . such a simple word, but so packed with
meaning. I have come to learn that pain is the strongest
emotion one can feel. Unlike every other emotion, it’s the
only one every human being is guaranteed to feel at
some point in their life, and there is no upside to pain,
no positive aspect that can make you look at it from a
different perspective . . . there’s only the overwhelming
sensation of pain itself. Lately I’ve become very well
acquainted with pain—the ache has become nearly
unbearable. Sometimes when I’m alone, which is more
often than not as of recently, I find myself trying to
decide which type of pain is worse. The answer isn’t as
simple as I thought it would be. The slow and steady-
aching pain, the type of pain that comes when you’ve
been hurt repeatedly by the same person, yet here you
are, here I am, allowing the pain to continue . . . it never
ends.
Only in those rare moments when he pulls me to his
chest and makes promises that he never seems able to
keep does the pain disappear. Just as I get used to the
freedom, my freedom from my self-inflicted pain, it
returns with another blow.
This doesn’t have a damn thing to do with religion; this is
about me.
I have decided that the hot, burning, inescapable pain
is the worst. This pain comes when you finally begin to
relax, you finally breathe, thinking that some issue is
yesterday’s problem, when in fact it’s today’s problem,
tomorrow’s problem, and the problem of every day after
that. This pain comes when you pour everything into
something, into someone, and they betray you so
completely—so seemingly on a whim—that the pain
crushes you and you feel as if you’re barely breathing,
barely holding on to that small fraction of whatever is
left inside of you begging you to go on, to not give up.
Fuck.
Sometimes it’s faith that people hold on to.
Sometimes, if you’re lucky enough, you can confide in
someone else and trust them to pull you out of the pain
before you dwell in it for too long. Pain is one of those
hideous places that, once visited, you have to fight your
way out, and even when you think you have escaped it,
you find that it has permanently marked you. If you’re
like me, you don’t have anyone to depend on, no one to
take your hand and assure you that you’ll make it
through this hell. Instead, you have to lace up your
boots, grab your own hand, and pull yourself out.
My eyes move to the date at the top of the page. This was
written while I was in England. I shouldn’t read any more. I
should just put the damn book down and never open it again,
but I can’t. I have to know what else was written in this book
of secrets. I fear this is the closest to her I will fucking get
anymore.
I turn to another page labeled Faith.
What does faith mean to you? Do you have faith in
something higher? Do you believe that faith can bring
good things to people’s lives?
This should be better; this entry shouldn’t twist the knife
and worsen the ache in my chest. This one couldn’t be related
to me.
To me, faith means believing in something other than
yourself. I don’t believe that any two people can possibly
hold the same view on faith, whether their only faith is
religion-based or not. I do believe in something higher—
I was raised that way. My mother and I went to church
every single Sunday, and most Wednesdays, too. I don’t
go to church now, which I probably should do, but I’m
still deciding how I feel about my religious faith now
that I’m an adult and no longer obliged to do what my
mother expects me to do.
When I think about faith, my mind doesn’t
automatically go to religion. It probably should, but it
just doesn’t. It goes to him; everything does. He is my
every thought. I’m not entirely sure if that’s a good thing,
but that’s the way it is, and I have faith that it will work
out for us in the end. Yes, he’s difficult and
overprotective, sometimes even controlling . . . okay, he’s
often controlling, but I have faith in him, that he means
well, no matter how frustrating his actions. My
relationship with him tests me in ways that I never
thought imaginable, but every second is worth it. I truly
believe that one day his deep fear of losing me will
dissolve and we will embrace our future together; that’s
all I want. I know he wants it, too, though he would
never say so. I have so much faith in that man that I will
take every single tear, every single pointless
argument . . . I’ll take it all just to be around to see him
on the day when he’s able to have faith in himself.
Meanwhile, I have faith that one day Hardin will say
what he feels openly and honestly, finally putting an end
to his self-imposed exile from feeling things and dealing
with them in the way that he should. That one day he
will finally see that he isn’t a villain. He tries so hard to
be one, but deep down he’s really a hero. He’s been my
hero, my tormentor at times, but mostly my hero. He
saved me from myself. I spent my life pretending to be
someone I wasn’t, and Hardin has shown me that it’s
okay to be myself. I’m no longer conforming to my
mother’s idea of who I am and who I’m supposed to be
becoming, and I thank him dearly for helping me to get
to this point. I believe that one day he will see how truly
incredible he is. He’s so incredibly perfectly imperfect,
and I love him so much for that.
He may not show the heroism inside him the
conventional way, but he tries, and that’s all I can ask
for. I have faith that if he continues to try, he will finally
allow himself to be happy. I will continue to have faith in
him until he has it in himself.
I close the book and pinch the bridge of my nose in an
attempt to control my emotions. Tessa believes in me for no
damn reason. I’ll never understand why she wasted her time
on me in the first place, but reading her unedited thoughts this
way twists the knife in my chest, pulls it out, and then impales
me with its blade once more.
The realization that Tessa is just like me both frightens and
thrills me at the same time. Knowing that everything in her
world revolves . . . revolved around me makes me happy, even
giddy, but when I’m reminded that I fucking blew it, the
happiness disappears just as fast as it came. I owe it to her and
to myself to be better. I owe it to her to try to let go of my
anger.
Oddly enough, I feel as if a weight has been lifted from my
shoulders since my awkward conversation with my father. I
wouldn’t go as far as to say that all the ugly, hurtful memories
are forgiven, or that we’ll suddenly become pals, watching
sports together on TV and shit, but I do hate him less than I
did before. I’m more like my father than I care to admit. I’ve
tried to leave Tessa for her own good, but I have yet to be
strong enough to do it. So, in a way, he’s stronger than me. He
actually left and didn’t come back. If I had a child with Tessa,
and I knew I would fuck up their lives, I would want to leave,
too.
Fuck that. The thought of having a child makes me
nauseous. I would be the worst possible father, and Tessa
really would be better off on her own. I can’t even show her
love the way that I should, let alone a child.
“Enough of that,” I say out loud and sigh, rising to my feet.
I walk into the kitchen and open a cabinet. The half-empty
bottle of vodka on the shelf is calling my name, begging me to
open it.
I really am a fucking drunk. I’m hovering over the kitchen
counter with a fucking bottle of vodka in my hands. I twist the
cap off and bring the bottle to my lips. Just one drink will
cause the guilt to go away. With one drink I can force myself
to pretend Tessa will be home soon. It’s worked before to
numb the pain, and it will work again. One drink.
Just as I close my eyes and tilt my head back, I can see
Tessa’s teary eyes flashing behind mine. I open my eyes, turn
on the sink faucet, and pour the vodka down the drain.
chapter fifty-eight
TESSA
Mouths are opening. Lips are moving without sounds. And
the music is bouncing off of the walls, rattling my mind.
How long have I been standing here? When did I walk into
the kitchen? I don’t remember.
“Hey.” Dan slides in front of me, and I shudder a little
where I’m leaning against the counter. His face is a little off-
kilter; I stare harder, trying to bring him into focus.
“Hey . . .” My reply comes soooo slow.
He smiles. “Are you okay?”
I nod. I think I do. “I feel weird, sort of,” I admit and scan
the room for Zed. I hope he comes back soon.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, like I feel . . . odd. Like drunk, but slower,
but then I have this energy at the same time.” I wave my hand
in front of my face . . . I have three hands.
Dan laughs. “You must have had a lot to drink.”
I nod again. Look at the floor. Watch a girl cross in front of
me at a snail’s pace. “Is Zed coming back?” I ask him.
Dan looks around. “Where did he go?”
“To find Steph about my drink.” I lean farther onto the
counter. Probably half of my body’s on it at this point. I can’t
really tell.
“He did? Hmm, I can help you find him.” He shrugs. “I
think I saw him go upstairs.”
“Okay,” I say. I don’t think I like Dan, but I need to find
Zed, because my head is getting heavier and heavier.
I follow slowly behind Dan as he pushes through the crowd
and heads toward the stairs. The music is amazingly loud now,
and I find my head moving slowly back and forth, back and
forth as I climb the steps.
“Is he up here?” I ask Dan.
“Yeah. He just went in here, I think.” He nods his head
toward the door across the hall.
“That’s Hardin’s room,” I inform him, and he shrugs. “Can
I just sit here for a minute? I can’t walk anymore, I think.” My
feet feel heavy, but my mind feels like it’s getting sharper, and
this makes no sense to me.
“Sure, yeah, you can sit in here.” Dan grabs hold of my arm
and leads me into Hardin’s old room. I stumble to the edge of
the bed, and memories seem to take shape and swirl in the air
around me: Hardin and me sitting on the bed, the same spot
I’m in now. I kissed him for the first time. I was so
overwhelmed and confused by my growing need to be close to
him. My dark boy. That was the first time I got a glimpse of
the softer, kinder Hardin. He didn’t stay long, but it was nice
to meet him.
“Where’s Hardin?” I ask, looking up at Dan.
An expression crosses his face, then disappears as he
chuckles. “Oh, Hardin isn’t here, and you said you were sure
he wasn’t coming, remember?” He closes the door and locks it
behind him.
What’s going on? My mind reels with the possibilities, but
my body feels too heavy to move. I want to lie down, but an
alarm is screeching through my head telling me to fight it.
Don’t lie down! Keep your eyes open!
“O-open the door,” I say and try to stand, but the room
begins to spin.
As if on cue, there’s a knock at the door. Relief floods over
me when Dan unlocks the door and it opens to reveal Steph.
“Steph!” I moan. “He’s . . . he’s doing something.” I don’t
know how to explain it, but I know he was going to do
something.
She looks at Dan, who gives her a sinister smile. Looking
back at me, she asks simply, “Doing what?”
“Steph . . .” I call for her again. I need her to help me leave
this haunted room.
“Stop whining!” she snaps, and I lose my breath.
“What?” I manage to say.
But Steph just smiles up at Dan while she digs her hand
through the bag she’s brought in. When I moan again, she
stops and glares at me. “God, do you ever shut up? I’m so sick
of hearing you bitch and complain all the damn time.”
My brain isn’t working correctly—Steph can’t be saying
these things to me.
She rolls her eyes. “Ugh, and that stupid innocent pout—
like give it a fucking rest, already.” After a couple more
seconds of digging, she says, “Found it . . . here,” and she
hands a small object to Dan.
I almost fade out, but a little beep brings me back to
consciousness . . . for at least a few more seconds.
I see a little red light, like a teeny-tiny cherry.
Like the cherry vodka sour. Steph, Dan, Molly, Zed. The
party. Oh no.
“What did you do?” I ask her, and she laughs again.
“Didn’t I tell you to stop whining? You’ll be fine,” she
groans and walks toward the bed. There’s a camera in Dan’s
hand. The red light shows that it’s on.
“G-get away from me,” I try to yell, but it comes out a mere
whisper. I try to stand to my feet, but I stumble back to the
bed. It’s soft . . . like quicksand.
“I thought you . . .” I begin.
But Steph puts her hands on my shoulders and pushes me
back against the mattress. I can’t get back up. “You thought
what? I was your friend?” She kneels on the bed, hovering
over me. Steph’s fingers grip the bottom of my dress and begin
to pull it up my thighs. “You were too busy being a whore
going back and forth between Zed and Hardin to realize that
I’ve actually always despised you. Don’t you think if I really
gave a shit about you I would have told you that Hardin was
only dating you to win a bet? Don’t you think a friend would
have warned you?”
She’s right, and once again my idiocy is glaringly obvious.
The sting of betrayal is multiplied by the fuzziness in my head
—and when I look at Steph now, the red-haired devil, her face
is twisted, distorted in the most evil way imaginable, and the
glow of her dark eyes sends a chill through me.
“Oh, and by the way.” She laughs. “I hope you had fun
waiting on Hardin to show up on his birthday. Amazing what I
can do with one little text. So a video camera must be so much
worse, huh?”
I try to fight her off, but it’s impossible. She easily removes
my fingers from where I’ve dug them into her arms and
continues pulling on my dress. I close my eyes and imagine
Hardin bursting through the door to rescue me, my knight in
black armor.
“Hardin will find . . . out,” I threaten weakly.
“Ha ha, yeah—that’s the point. Now stop talking.”
Another knock sounds at the door, and again I pointlessly
try to push her off of me.
“Close the door—hurry,” Dan says, and when I crane my
neck toward the door, I’m not surprised to find that Molly has
joined us.
“Help me get her dress off,” Steph says.
My eyes flutter, and I try to shake my head, but it doesn’t
work. Nothing works. Dan is going to force himself on me, I
know it. This was Steph’s plan for this party. It was never
meant to be a going-away party for me. It was meant to
destroy me. I have no idea why I ever thought she was my
friend.
Molly’s hair falls onto my face when she climbs onto the
bed next to me, and Steph pushes me up and rolls over to get
better access to the back of my dress.
“Why-y-y?” My voice is broken, and I’m vaguely aware of
the tears on my cheeks, now wetting the sheets on the bed.
“Why?” Dan echoes, bringing his face close to mine.
“Why? Your asshole boyfriend taped himself fucking my sister
—that’s why.” His warm breath on my face feels like mud.
“Whoa!” Molly says loudly. “I thought you said you were
only taking some pictures of her!”
“We are . . . and maybe a little video,” Steph responds.
“No way! Hell no, dude—you can’t have him rape her!”
Molly shouts.
“He’s not . . . Jesus. I’m not, like, psychotic. He’s just going
to touch her and make it look like they’re fucking so that when
Hardin sees the tape he’ll fucking lose it. Just picture his face
when he sees his innocent little whore of a girlfriend getting
fucked by Dan.” Steph laughs. “I thought you were into this,”
she hisses at Molly. “You said you were.”
“I’m into pissing him off, but you can’t tape this shit.”
Molly is whispering, but I can hear her clear as day.
“You sound like her.” Steph turns me back over after
removing my dress completely.
“Stop,” I whimper. Steph rolls her eyes, and Molly looks
like she might vomit any second.
“I don’t know about this anymore,” Molly says, panicked.
Steph grabs her shoulder viciously and points. “Well,
there’s the door, then. If you’re going to be a pussy about it, go
downstairs and we’ll join you in a few.”
Another knock at the door, and I hear Tristan’s voice.
“Steph, are you in there?” he says through the wood. Not him,
too.
“Shit,” Steph mutters. “Yeah, um, I’m talking to Molly. Be
out in a minute!”
I open my mouth to scream, but her hand clamps down over
my face to silence me. It’s sticky and smells like alcohol.
I try to look at Molly for help, but she turns away. Coward.
“Go downstairs, babe. I’ll be right there. She’s . . . she’s
upset. Girl stuff, you know?” she lies, and despite all of this
mess, I can’t help but be relieved that Tristan seems oblivious
to his cruel girlfriend’s intentions.
“Okay!” he shouts.
“Come over here,” Steph quietly instructs Dan. Then she
touches my cheek. “Open your eyes.”
They open, barely, and I feel Dan’s hand trail up my thigh.
Fear shoots through me, and I close them again.
“I’m going downstairs,” Molly finally says when Dan
brings the small camera in front of his face.
“Fine, lock the door,” Steph snaps.
“Move over,” Dan says, and the bed shifts under me when
Steph climbs off and he takes her place. “You hold it.”
I try my hardest to replace Dan’s hands with Hardin’s in my
mind, but it’s impossible. Dan’s hands are soft, too soft, and I
try my hardest to replace them with something, anything. I
picture the softest blanket that I had as a child touching my
skin . . . The door closes, signaling Molly’s exit, and I
whimper again.
“He’s going to hurt you,” I choke, keeping my eyes tightly
closed.
“Nah, he won’t,” Dan replies. “He’ll want to make sure no
one sees this, so he won’t do shit.” His fingers trace along the
top of my panties, and he whispers to me, “This is the way the
world works.”
I gather up all the strength I can and try to throw him off
me, but I only manage to make the bed shake a little.
Steph laughs some evil sound. “Hardin is a dick, okay?”
she yells, putting the camera in my face. “And he’s always
fucking with people: he fucked with Dan’s sister, he fucked
with me, he led so many girls on, fucked them, then tossed
them aside. Until you, that is. Why he likes you so much will
never make any sense to me.” Her tone is full of disgust.
“Tessa!” Zed’s voice booms from somewhere, and Steph
covers my mouth again as I hear pounding at the door.
“Keep quiet,” she commands. I try to bite her hand. She
reaches over and slaps me across the face, but fortunately I
barely feel it.
“Open the fucking door, Steph—let me in!” Zed shouts.
Is he in on this, too? Was Hardin right about him? Is
everyone around me trying to hurt me? The thought isn’t
impossible: nearly everyone I’ve trusted since coming to
college has betrayed me. The names just keep piling up.
“I’ll break the door—I’m not fucking around. Go get
Tristan!” I hear him yell, and Steph immediately removes her
hand from my mouth.
“Wait!” she yells, going to the door. But it’s too late. The
door bursts opens with a loud crack, and Dan’s hand is no
longer on me. When I open my eyes, he’s backing away from
me quickly as Zed strides into the room, his presence filling it.
“What the fuck!” he yells, rushing toward me.
A blanket is thrown over my body by someone as I try to
reach for him.
“Help me,” I beg him, and pray that he isn’t involved in this
nightmare. That he can actually hear me.
He stalks toward Steph and grabs the small camera from
her hands. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Dropping it to
the ground, he stomps on it repeatedly.
“Chill out, dude, it was a joke,” she says and crosses her
arms in front of her just as Tristan enters the room.
“A joke? You put something in her drink and you’re up here
with a video camera while Dan tries to fucking rape her!
That’s not a goddamn joke!”
Tristan’s mouth falls open. “What?”
Ever the manipulator, Steph points an accusatory finger at
Zed and starts crying on command. “Don’t listen to him!”
Zed shakes his head. “No, man, it’s true. Go ask Jace. She
asked him for a benzo—and now look at Tessa! The camera
they were using is right there.” He points to the ground.
Holding the blanket against me, I try to sit up again. I fail.
“It was a prank. No one was going to hurt her!” Steph says
with a fake chuckle that seems meant to hide her
maliciousness.
But Tristan looks at his girlfriend in horror. “How could
you do that to her? I thought she was your friend!”
“No, no, baby, it’s not as bad as it seems—it was Dan’s
idea!”
Dan throws his arms up, also wanting to avoid blame.
“What the fuck! No, it wasn’t my idea! It was yours.” He
points to Steph and looks at Tristan. “She has a fucked-up
obsession with Hardin . . . it was her idea.”
Shaking his head, Tristan turns to leave the room, but
seems to change his mind as he swings his fist through the air,
connecting with Dan’s jaw. Dan crumples to the floor, and
Tristan makes toward the door again. Steph starts after him.
“Get away from me! We’re done!” he yells and disappears.
Circling, looking at everyone in the room, she yells,
“Thanks a fucking lot!”
I want to laugh at the irony of her planning this horror
show, then blaming everyone else when it backfires in her
face. And were I not lying here, catching my breath, I would
laugh.
Zed’s face hovers above mine. “Tessa . . . are you okay?”
“No . . .” I admit, feeling dizzier than ever. At first it was
only my body that was slow; my mind was clouded only
slightly, but now I can feel it becoming more and more
affected by the drug.
“I’m sorry I left you alone. I should have known better.”
After Zed tucks the blanket more tightly around me, one of his
arms hooks under my legs and the other settles across my
back, and he lifts me from the bed.
He starts carrying me out of the room, but he stops in front
of Dan, who is just picking himself up off the floor. “I hope
when Hardin finds out about what you did, he fucking kills
you. You deserve it.”
I’m slightly aware of all the gasps and whispers going on
around me as Zed carries me through the crowded house. I
don’t care, though. I just want to escape from this place and
never look back.
“What the hell?” I recognize Logan’s voice.
“Can you go upstairs and get her dress and purse?” Zed
asks quietly.
“Yeah, sure, man,” Logan responds.
Zed backs through the front door, and cold air hits me,
making me shiver. At least, I think I’m shivering, but I can’t
really tell. Zed tries to tighten the blanket around me, but it
keeps slipping. I’m not any help, since I can barely move my
arms.
“I’m going to call Hardin as soon as I get you into my
truck, okay?” Zed says.
“No, don’t,” I groan. Hardin will be so mad at me. The last
thing I want is to be screamed at when I can barely keep my
eyes open.
“Tessa, I really think I should call him.”
“Please, no.” I begin to cry again. Hardin is the only person
I want to see right now, but I don’t want to know how he’ll
react when he finds out what happened. If he had been the one
to show up instead of Zed, what would he have done to Dan
and Steph? Something that would’ve landed him in jail, I’m
sure.
“Don’t tell him,” I say again. “None of it, shhh.”
“He’ll find out anyway. Even with the video destroyed, too
many people know what happened.”
“No, please.”
I hear Zed’s frustrated sigh as he shifts my body into one
arm so he can pull the passenger door of his truck open.
Logan comes back as Zed places me on the cold seat.
“Here’s her stuff. Is she okay?” he asks with obvious concern.
“Yeah, I think so. She’s on benzo.”
“What the hell?”
“It’s a long story. Have you ever taken it?” Zed asks.
“Yeah, once, but only half, and I passed out after an hour.
You better hope she doesn’t start hallucinating. Some people
have crazy reactions to that stuff.”
“Shit,” Zed groans, and I can picture him twisting his lip
ring between his fingers.
“Does Hardin know?” Logan asks.
“Not yet . . .”
The two of them continue to discuss me as if I’m not there,
but I’m relieved when the heater in the truck finally shifts
from blowing cold air to warm.
“I need to get her home,” Zed finally says, and within
seconds he’s in the truck next to me.
Looking at me with a worried expression, Zed says, “If you
don’t want me to tell him, where do you want to go? You can
come to my place, but you know how pissed he’ll be when he
finds out.”
If I could form an actual sentence, I’d tell him about our
breakup, but since I can’t, I make a sound that is something
between a cry and a cough. “Mother,” I manage.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes . . . no Hardin. Please,” I breathe.
He nods, and the truck begins to move down the street. I try
to focus on Zed’s voice as he talks on the phone, but in my
attempts to remain sitting up straight, I lose track of what he’s
said, and within minutes I’m lying across the seat.
Giving up, I just close my eyes.
chapter fifty-nine
HARDIN
Love is the single most important emotion one can
hold. Whether it’s your love for God or your love for
another, it’s the most powerful, overwhelming, incredible
experience. The moment when you realize that you are
capable of loving someone else more than yourself is
quite possibly the most important moment in your life. It
was for me, anyway. I love Hardin more than myself,
more than anything.
My phone vibrates on the coffee table for the fifth time in the
last two minutes. I finally decide to answer it so I can tell her
off.
“What the fuck do you want?” I bark into the speaker.
“It’s—”
“Spit it out, Molly, I don’t have time for your shit.”
“It’s about Tessa.”
I stand to my feet, and the journal falls to the floor. My
blood is ice cold. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“She’s . . . look, don’t freak out, but Steph slipped her
something and Dan is—”
“Where are you?”
“The frat house.” She barely gets the words out before I
hang up the phone, grab my keys, and rush out of the
apartment.
MY HEART IS POUNDING out of my chest the entire drive.
Why the fuck did I get an apartment so far from the campus?
This is hands down the longest twenty-mile drive of my life.
Steph fucking slipped something to Tessa . . . What the fuck
is wrong with her? And Dan—fucking Dan is a dead man if he
lays one goddamn finger on her.
I run every single red light and ignore the resulting flashes
that indicate I’ll be getting at least four tickets in the mail.
It’s Tessa . . . Molly’s voice plays over and over in my mind
until I finally reach the old frat house. I don’t bother turning
off my car—my car is the least of my concerns right now.
Crowds of drunken idiots litter the living room and hallways
as I push my way through the downstairs in search for Tessa.
My hands wrap around Nate’s collar the moment I see him,
and I slam him into the wall without a thought. “Where is
she?”
“I don’t know! I haven’t seen her!” he shouts, and I loosen
my grip.
“Where the fuck is Steph?” I demand.
“She’s in the backyard—I think—I haven’t seen her in a
while.”
I let go of him with a shove, and he stumbles forward with
a glare at me.
I stalk out to the backyard in a panic . . . If Tessa is out
there in the cold with Steph and Dan . . .
Steph’s red hair is bright in the darkness, and I don’t
hesitate to grab her collar and lift her from the ground by the
back of her leather coat.
She starts swatting her arms behind her. “What the fuck!”
“Where is she?” I growl, keeping my fist full of the leather.
“I don’t know—you tell me,” she spits, and I turn her
around to face me.
“Where the fuck is she?”
“You won’t do shit to me.”
“I wouldn’t doubt me, if I were you. Tell me where the fuck
Tessa is—now!” I scream in her face.
Steph flinches, and her bravado falters for a moment before
she shakes her head. “I don’t know where the hell she is, but
she’s probably passed out by now.”
“You’re a sick, disgusting bitch. If I were you, I would
leave this place before I find Tessa. Once I know she’s okay,
there won’t be anything stopping me from coming after you!”
For a moment I consider the idea of hurting Steph, but I know
I couldn’t actually do it. I can’t imagine Tessa’s reaction if I
laid a hand on a woman, even an evil one like Steph.
I turn on my heel and head inside. I don’t have time to play
games.
“Where’s Dan Heard?” I ask a random blond girl I see
sitting alone at the bottom of the stairs.
“Him?” she asks, pointing a painted fingernail toward the
top of the stairs.
I don’t respond but just run over and take the stairs two at a
time. Dan isn’t aware of my presence until I’ve tackled him to
the ground, knocking over a couple other people along the
way. I flip him over and pin him beneath me, closing my
hands around his neck. Déjà fucking vu.
“Where the fuck is Tessa?” I tighten my grip.
Dan’s face is already turning a nice shade of pink, and he
makes a pathetic choking sound instead of answering. I clamp
my fingers tighter.
“If you hurt her in any goddamn way, I will beat every last
breath from your body,” I curse.
He kicks his feet, and I look up at the guy he was standing
with.
“Where is Tessa Young?” I ask the kid, who just raises his
hands in surrender.
“I don’t . . . I don’t know her, man. I swear!” the pussy
yells, backing away as I continue to strangle his friend.
Dan’s face has turned from pink to purple. “Are you ready
to tell me?” I ask.
He nods frantically.
“Fucking talk!” I shout, letting go of him.
“She’s . . . Zed.” He manages to mutter along with a
strained and hollow-sounding cough the moment I remove my
hands from his neck.
“Zed?” My vision goes black as all my fears suddenly
materialize. “He put you up to this, didn’t he.”
“No. Zed didn’t have anything to do with it,” Molly says,
stepping out from one of the rooms along the hallway. “He
didn’t. I mean, he heard Steph talking about doing something,
but I don’t think he thought she was serious.”
I look at Molly with wild eyes. “Where is she? Where’s
Tessa?” I ask for the hundredth time. Each second that I don’t
see her, each moment that I’m not assured of her safety, is
another blow to my rapidly dwindling sanity.
“I don’t know. I think she left with Zed.”
“What did they do to her? Tell me everything—now.” I
stand to my feet and leave Dan on the ground running his
hands over his neck as he tries to catch his breath.
Molly shakes her head. “They didn’t do anything; he
stopped them before they could.”
“He?”
“Zed. I went down and got him and Tristan before anything
could happen. Steph was being so fucking crazy, like she was
going to have Dan rape Tessa or something. She says she was
only going to make it look that way, but I don’t know, she was
acting like a psycho.”
“Rape Tessa?” I choke out. No. “Did he . . . touch her?”
“A little,” she says sadly and looks at the ground.
I look back down at Dan, who is sitting up now. My boot
collides with his cheek, and he drops back to the floor
immediately.
“Holy shit! You’re going to kill him!” Molly shrieks.
“Like you give a fuck,” I snap at her and try to gauge just
how hard I would have to kick him to permanently indent his
skull. Blood trickles down his cheek and out of the corner of
his mouth. Good.
“I don’t . . . I don’t give a fuck about any of this, actually.”
“Then why did you call me? I thought you hate Tessa.”
“I do, trust me. But I can’t sit there and let someone rape
her.”
“Well . . .” I almost thank her, but I quickly remember what
a bitch she is, so I just nod and walk away to find Tessa.
Why was Zed here in the first place? That motherfucker
always seems to show up at the right time—the exact moment
that will make me look like an asshole, and now, once again,
he has saved her.
Regardless of my extreme jealousy, I’m so fucking relieved
to know she’s away from Steph and Dan and their fucking sick
plan for revenge against me. This whole ordeal is just another
reminder that every single bad thing in Tessa’s life stems from
me. If I hadn’t done that shit to Dan’s sister, this never would
have happened. Now Tessa is fucking drugged and she’s with
Zed. Who knows what the fuck he’ll try to do with her.
This is it—this is what hell feels like. Knowing that she
was in this mess because of me. She could have been raped
because of me.
Just like in my dreams . . . and I wasn’t there to stop her.
Just like I wasn’t able to stop it from happening to my mum.
I hate this. I hate myself so fucking much. I ruin everything
and anyone that comes in contact with me. I’m poison, and
she’s the slowly eroding seraph, holding on to the last bit of
herself that I haven’t destroyed.
“Hardin!” Logan meets me at the bottom the stairs.
“Do you know where Tessa and Zed are?” The words taste
like acid on my tongue.
“They left about fifteen minutes ago—I assumed they were
going back to your place,” he responds.
So she didn’t tell anyone about our breakup. “Was she . . .
was she okay?” I ask him and hold my breath until he
responds.
“I don’t know, she was pretty out of it. They gave her
benzo.”
“Fuck.” I tug at my hair and walk to the front door. “If you
hear from Zed before I find them, call me,” I instruct him.
Logan nods in agreement, and I run to my car. Thankfully
no one has stolen it. However, someone has taken the
opportunity to be a dick and pour a beer down my windshield
and leave the empty cup on the hood. Fucking assholes.
I give Tessa a call, but end up just muttering into her
voicemail, “Answer the phone, please . . . please just answer
once.”
I know she probably isn’t capable of answering right now,
but Zed could answer the damn phone for her. The thought of
her being so incoherent when I’m not around to protect her
sickens me. I smash my hands against the steering wheel and
peel out onto the street. This is a fucking disaster, and Tessa is
with Zed, of all people. I don’t trust him any more than I do
Dan or Steph.
That’s not entirely true, but I still don’t trust him. By the
time I get to Zed’s apartment, I’m in tears—literal tears stain
and coat my cheeks, reminding me of how big of a fuckup I
really am. I let this happen; I let her get fucking drugged,
nearly raped, and humiliated. I should have been there. No one
would have dared to try that shit if I had been. She was
probably so afraid . . .
I lift my T-shirt up to wipe my traitorous eyes and park in
front of Zed’s apartment. His truck isn’t in the lot . . . Where
the fuck is he? Where is she?
I try to call Tessa, then Zed, then Tessa again, but nobody’s
picking up. If he does something to her while she’s passed out,
I will do much worse to him than he could ever imagine.
Where else would she go?
To Landon?
“Hardin?” Landon’s sleepy voice comes through the phone,
and I press the speakerphone button.
“Is Tessa there?”
He yawns. “No . . . is she supposed to be?”
“No, I can’t find her.”
“Are you . . .” He stops himself. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah . . . no. I’m not. I can’t find Tessa, and I don’t know
where else to look.”
“Does she want to be found?” he asks softly.
Does she? Probably not. But then again, at this point she
probably can’t even form a coherent thought. These aren’t
normal circumstances, to put it mildly.
“I’ll take your silence as a no, Hardin. My guess is, if she
doesn’t want to be found, she’s at the one place where she
knows you won’t go.”
“Her mother’s,” I groan, punching my thigh for not
thinking of that earlier.
“Oh, now I’ve done it . . . Are you going there?”
“Yeah.” But would Zed really drive her two hours to take
her to her mum’s?
“Do you know how to get there?”
“Not exactly, but I can go by the apartment and get the
address.”
“I think I have something here that has it written on it . . .
she left some transfer paperwork here a while ago. Let me
look and call you right back.”
“Thanks.” I wait impatiently and turn my car around in the
nearest empty parking lot. I stare out the window, taking in the
darkness, fighting not to let it take me over. I have to focus on
seeing Tess, on making sure she’s okay.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Landon asks
moments later when he calls back.
“Steph . . . you know, the redhead? She drugged Tessa.”
Landon gasps. “Wait, what?”
“Yeah, it’s a fucked-up situation and I wasn’t there to help
her so she’s with Zed,” I tell him.
“Is she okay?” He sounds like he’s panicking.
“I don’t have a fucking clue.”
I wipe my nose on my shirt, and Landon gives me
directions to Tessa’s childhood home.
Her mum is going to lose her shit when I show up,
especially given the situation, but I don’t care. I don’t have a
clue as to what the hell I’m going to do when I arrive, but I
have to see her and make sure she’s okay.
chapter sixty
TESSA
What happened? Tell me the entire story!” my mother cries
out as Zed lifts me out of his truck. His arms around me jar me
back into consciousness, and a blooming sense of
embarrassment.
“Tessa’s old roommate slipped something into her drink,
and Tessa asked me to bring her here,” Zed tells her half
truthfully. I’m relieved that he kept some of the details from
her.
“Oh my God! Why would that girl do such a thing?”
“I don’t know, Mrs. Young . . . Tessa can explain when she
wakes up.”
I am awake! I want to scream, but I can’t. It’s an odd
feeling, hearing everything that’s going on around me but not
being able to participate in the conversation. I can’t move or
speak, my mind is foggy, and my thoughts are twisted—but
I’m strangely aware of everything that is happening. What’s
happening, though, changes every few minutes: sometimes
Zed’s voice turns into Hardin’s, and I swear I hear Hardin’s
laughter and see his face when I try to open my eyes. I’m
losing it. This drug is making me crazy, and I want it to stop.
Some time passes—I have no idea how much—and I’m
placed on what I can tell is the sofa. Slowly, maybe even
reluctantly, Zed’s arms slide out from underneath me.
“Well, thank you for bringing her here,” my mother says.
“This is just dreadful. When will she wake up?” Her voice is
piercing. My head is spinning slowly.
“I don’t know. I think the effects last twelve hours at most.
It’s been about three already.”
“How could she be so stupid?” my mother snaps at Zed,
and the word “stupid” echoes in my mind until it fades out.
“Who, Steph?” he asks.
“No, Theresa. How could she be that stupid to associate
with those people.”
“It wasn’t her fault,” Zed answers, defending me. “It was
supposed to be a going-away party. Tessa thought the girl was
her friend.”
“Friend? Please! Tessa should know better than to try to be
friends with that girl, or any of you, for that matter.”
“No disrespect or anything, but you don’t know me. I did
just drive for two hours to bring your daughter here,” Zed
politely responds.
My mother sighs, and I focus on the sound of her heels
clicking on the tile of the kitchen floor.
“Do you need anything else?” he asks her. The couch, I
notice, is much softer than Zed’s arms. Hardin’s arms are soft
but hard at the same time; the way his muscles strain under his
skin is something I always loved to watch. My thoughts are
blurring again. I hate this constant shift back and forth
between clarity and confusion.
From a distance I hear my mother’s voice say, “No. Thank
you for bringing her. I was rude a moment ago, and I
apologize for it.”
“I’ll get her clothes and stuff from my car real quick, then
be on my way.”
“Okay.” I hear the clicking of her high heels from across
the room.
I wait to hear the roar of Zed’s truck. It doesn’t come, or
maybe it did already and I missed it. I’m confused. My head is
heavy. I don’t know how long I’ve been lying here, but I’m
thirsty. Did Zed leave yet?
“What the hell are you doing here?” my mother screams,
bringing a sharp edge of clarity to the haze. Though I still
don’t know what’s happening.
“Is she okay?” a panting, ragged voice asks. Hardin.
He’s here. Hardin.
Unless it’s Zed’s voice deceiving me again. No, I know it’s
Hardin. I can feel him here somehow.
“You aren’t coming into this house!” my mother yells. “Did
you not hear me! Don’t walk past me like you didn’t hear me!”
I hear the screen door slam shut, and my mother continues
to yell.
And then I think I feel his hand on my cheek.
chapter sixty-one
HARDIN
They couldn’t have been here long—I went twenty miles over
the speed limit the whole way. The moment I spot Zed’s truck
in the driveway of the small brick house, I nearly vomit. When
he steps out onto the porch, my vision goes red.
Zed walks slowly to his truck as I park on the street, not
wanting to block him in, so he can just get the fuck out of
here. What will I say to him? What will I say to her? Will she
even be able to hear me?
“I knew you’d show up here,” he says quietly when I
appear in front of him.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I growl, biting back my rising anger.
“Maybe because this is all your fault.”
“Are you fucking serious? It’s my fault that Steph is a
goddamned psycho?” Yes; yes, it is.
“No, it’s your fault that you didn’t come with Tessa to that
party in the first place. You should have seen her face when I
busted that door in.” He shakes his head as if to rid himself of
the memory. My chest tightens. Tessa must not have told him
that we aren’t together. Does that mean she’s still holding on,
the way that I am?
“I . . . I didn’t even know she was going there, so fuck off.
Where is she?”
“Inside.” He states the obvious with a murderous glare.
“Don’t fucking look at me like that—you shouldn’t even be
here in the first place,” I remind him.
“If it wasn’t for me, she would have been raped and God
knows what else—”
My hands find the collar of his leather jacket, and I push
him up against the side of his truck. “No matter how many
times you try, no matter how many times you ‘save’ her, she
will never want you. Don’t forget that.”
I give him one last push and step away. I want to hit him,
bust his fucking nose for being such a smug asshole, but Tessa
is just inside that house, and seeing her is much more
important right now. As I walk past his truck windows I see on
his seat Tessa’s purse and . . . dress.
She doesn’t have clothes on?
“Why is her dress off?” I dare to ask. I yank on the door
handle and gather her things into my arms. When he doesn’t
answer immediately, I glare at him, waiting for his response.
“They took it off of her,” he simply remarks, his expression
grim.
“Fuck,” I murmur and turn to walk up the path to Tessa’s
mother’s house.
As I reach the porch, Carol comes out to block the front
door. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Her daughter’s wounded, and her first thought is to scream
at me. Fucking lovely.
“I need to see her.” I grab the handle to the screen door. She
shakes her head, but moves out of my way. I get the feeling
that she knows I’ll push right past her.
“You aren’t coming into this house!” she shouts.
I ignore her and step around her. “Did you not hear me!
Don’t walk past me like you didn’t hear me!” The screen door
slams somewhere behind me as I scan the small living room to
find my girl.
And then I freeze momentarily when I see her. She’s lying
on the couch with her knees bent slightly, her hair like a blond
halo around her head, and her eyes closed. Carol continues to
harass me, threatening to call the cops, but I don’t give a shit. I
step over to Tessa, then kneel down so that I’m level with her
face. Without thought, I brush a thumb over her cheekbone
and cup her flushed cheek in my palm.
“Christ,” I curse and watch closely as her chest moves up
and down slowly.
“Fuck, Tess, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault,” I whisper to
her, hoping that she can hear me. She’s so beautiful, still and
calm, her lips parted slightly, innocence clear on her
breathtaking face.
Carol of course jumps into the moment, spewing her anger
at me. “You’ve got that right! This is your fault. Now get out
of my house before I have you dragged out by the police!”
Without turning to her, I say, “Would you just give it a rest?
I’m not going anywhere. Go ahead and call the police. Have
them show up here this late at night—you’ll be the talk of the
town, and we all know you don’t want that.” I know she’s
glaring at me, throwing daggers in her mind, but I can’t look
away from the girl in front of me.
“Fine,” Carol finally snorts. “You have five minutes.”
Her shoes drag against the carpet in the most hideous way.
Why is she so dressed up this late anyway?
“I hope you can hear me, Tessa,” I begin. My words are
rushed but my touch is gentle as I caress the soft skin of her
cheek. Tears well up in my eyes and fall onto her clear skin.
“I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry for all of this. I shouldn’t
have let you walk away in the first place. What was I thinking?
“You would be proud of me, a little, I think. I didn’t kill
Dan when I found him; I only kicked him in the face . . . oh,
and I choked him a little, but he’s still breathing.” I pause
before admitting, “And I almost drank tonight, but I didn’t. I
couldn’t make things even worse between us. I know you
think I don’t care, but I do, I just don’t know how to show
you.” I stop to examine the way her eyelids flutter at my voice.
“Tessa, can you hear me?” I ask, hopeful.
“Zed?” she barely whispers, and for a moment I swear the
devil is messing with my mind.
“No, baby, it’s Hardin. I’m Hardin, not Zed.” I can’t help
the irritation that flares in me from hearing his name come so
softly from her lips.
“No Hardin.” Her eyebrows pull together in confusion, but
her eyes stay closed. “Zed?” she repeats, and I drop my hand
from her cheek.
When I rise to my feet, her mum is nowhere in sight. I’m
surprised she wasn’t hovering over my shoulder while I tried
to make amends with her daughter.
And then, as if my thoughts conjured her, she bursts back
into the room. “Are you finished?” she demands.
I hold one palm up toward her back. “No, I’m not.” I want
to be—Tessa’s calling out for Zed, after all.
Then, meekly, as if admitting that she’s not in control of the
entire world, her mum asks, “Can you put her in her room for
me before you go? She can’t just lie on the couch.”
“So I’m not allowed here, but . . .” I stop myself, knowing
it won’t do any good to get into it with this woman for the
tenth time since I met her. So I just nod. “Sure, where’s the
room?”
“Last door on the left,” she replies curtly and disappears
again. I don’t know where Tessa’s kindness came from, but it
sure as hell wasn’t from this woman.
Sighing, I push one arm under Tessa’s knees and one under
her neck, lifting her gently. A soft groan falls from her lips as I
bring her close to my chest. I keep my head down slightly as I
carry her down the hall. This house is small, much smaller
than I had imagined.
The last door on the left is nearly closed, and when I push it
open with my foot, I’m surprised at the nostalgic feelings that
well up deep inside me at the sight of a room that I’ve never
been in before. A small bed rests against the far wall, filling
nearly half of the tiny bedroom. The desk in the corner is
almost the same size as the bed. A teenage Tessa flows
through my imagination, the way she must have spent hours
and hours sitting at the large desk working on countless
homework assignments. Her eyebrows pushed together, her
mouth set in a straight overconcentrated line, her hair falling
over her eyes, and her hand pushing it back swiftly before
pushing the pencil back behind her ear.
Knowing her now, I wouldn’t have guessed these pink
sheets and this purple duvet would belong to her. They must
have been holdovers from back when a younger Tessa went
through her Barbie doll phase that she once described as “the
best and worst time in her life.” I remember her describing
how she constantly felt the need to ask her mum things like
where Barbie worked, what university she attended, if she
would have children one day.
I look down at the adult Tessa in my arms and stifle a laugh
as I think about her constant curiosity—one of my most and
least favorite things about her now. I yank back the blanket
and gently lay her across the bed, making sure that there’s only
one pillow underneath her head, just the way she sleeps at
home.
Home . . . this is not her home anymore. Just like this small
house, our apartment was a short stop for her on the way to her
dream: Seattle.
The small wooden dresser creaks as I open the top drawer,
searching for clothes to place on her half-naked body. The
thought of Dan undressing her makes my fists clench around
the thin fabric of an old T-shirt from her dresser. I lift Tessa up
as gently as I can and drag the shirt over her head. Her hair is
messy, and when I attempt to smooth it, it only gets worse. She
groans again, and her fingers twitch. She’s trying to move, and
she can’t. I hate this. I swallow the bile in my throat and blink
away the thoughts of that shit bag’s hands on her.
To be respectful, I look away from her while my hands pull
her arms through the small holes and finally she’s dressed.
Carol is standing in the doorway; a thoughtful yet uptight
expression covers her face, and I wonder how long she’s been
standing there.
chapter sixty-two
TESSA
Just stop! I want to scream at the two of them. I can’t keep up
with them fighting this way. I can’t keep up: time doesn’t
make sense in this state that I’m in. Everything is out of order.
There are slamming doors and my mother and Hardin arguing
—and it’s all so hard to hear—but mostly there’s just darkness
dragging me under, pulling hard . . .
At some point I ask Hardin, “Yes, what about Zed? Did you
hurt him?” At least, the thoughts are there, and I’m trying my
hardest to say them. I’m not sure if they make it out of my
mouth or not, if my mouth is coordinated with my mind.
“No, it’s Hardin. I’m Hardin, not Zed.”
Hardin is here, not Zed. Wait, Zed is here, too. Isn’t he?
“No, Hardin, did you hurt Zed?” The darkness is tugging
me in the opposite direction of his voice. My mother’s voice
enters the room and fills it with her authoritarian air, but I
can’t make out a word. The only clarity I have is in Hardin’s
voice. Not even his words, but how it sounds, how it moves
through me.
At some point, I feel something push under my body.
Hardin’s arm? I’m not entirely sure, but I’m lifted off of the
couch as the familiar minty scent fills my nostrils. Why is he
here, and how did he find me?
Only seconds later I’m gently laid back on the bed, then
I’m lifted again. I don’t want to move. Hardin’s shaky hands
push a shirt over my head, and I want to scream at him to stop
touching me. The last thing I want is to be touched, but the
moment Hardin’s fingers brush against my skin, the disgusting
memory of Dan is erased.
“Touch me again, please. Make it go away,” I beg. He
doesn’t reply. His hands keep touching my head, my neck, my
hair, and I try to lift my hand to his, but it’s too heavy.
“I love you and I’m so sorry,” I hear before my head rests
back on the pillow. “I want to take her home.”
No, leave me here. Please, I think to myself. But don’t
go . . .
chapter sixty-three
HARDIN
Carol crosses her arms over her chest. “Not happening.”
“I know that,” I seethe and wonder just how angry Tessa
would be if I cussed her mother out. Leaving her room, her
childhood bedroom, is hard enough without hearing the
strangled whine that falls from her lips when I cross the
threshold into the hallway.
“Where were you tonight while this was happening?” she
questions.
“At home.”
“Why weren’t you there to stop this?”
“What makes you so sure I wasn’t a part of it? You’re
usually quick to blame me for everything wrong in the world.”
“Because I know that regardless of your poor choices and
your even poorer attitude, you wouldn’t let anything like this
happen to Tessa if you could help it.”
Is that a compliment from her? A backhanded one . . . but,
hell, I’ll take it, especially considering the circumstances.
“Well . . .” I begin.
She holds her hand up to silence me. “I wasn’t finished. I
don’t blame you for everything that’s wrong in the world.” She
gestures to the sleeping, or half-conscious, girl lying on the
small bed. “Just her world.”
“I won’t argue with that.” I sigh in defeat. I know she’s
right; there’s no denying that I’ve ruined nearly everything in
Tessa’s life.
He’s been my hero, my tormentor at times, but mostly my
hero, she had said in her journal. A hero? I’m far from a
fucking hero. I would give anything to be one for her, but I
just don’t know how to go about it.
“Well, at least we can agree on something.” Her full lips
turn up in a half smile, but she blinks it away and looks down
at her feet. “Well, if that was all you needed, you can go.”
“Okay . . .” I take one last look at Tessa and then turn back
to her mum, who is staring at me again.
“What are your plans in regard to my daughter?” she asks
with some authority, but also maybe a little fear. “I have to
know what your long-term intentions are, because every time I
turn around, something else is happening with her, and not
something good. What do you plan to do with her in Seattle?”
“I’m not going to Seattle with her.” The words are thick and
heavy on my tongue.
“What?” She begins to walk down the hallway, and I follow
her.
“I’m not going. She’s going without me.”
“As happy as that makes me, may I ask why?” A perfectly
arched brow rises, and I look away.
“I’m just not, that’s why. It’s better for her that I don’t go,
anyway.”
“You sound just like my ex-husband.” She swallows.
“Sometimes I blame myself for Tessa attaching herself to you.
I worry that it’s because of the way her father was, before he
left us.” Her manicured hand lifts up to smooth her hair, and
she tries to appear unaffected by her mention of Richard.
“He has nothing to do with her relationship with me; she
barely knows him. The few days they’ve spent together lately
shows just that: she doesn’t remember enough about him to
affect her choice in men.”
“Lately?” Carol’s eyes widen in surprise, and I watch in
horror as the color drains from her face. And any small
understanding we had been creating seems to disappear along
with it.
Shit. Fuck. Fucking shit. “She . . . um, we ran into him a
little over a week ago.”
“Richard? He found her?” Her voice breaks, and she places
her hand on her neck.
“No, she ran into him.”
Her fingers start running nervously over the pearls around
her neck. “Where?”
“I don’t think I should be telling you any of this.”
“Excuse me?” Her arms drop, and she stands there gaping
in shock.
“If Tessa wanted you to know that she’d seen her dad, she
would have told you herself.”
“This is more important than your dislike for me, Hardin.
Has she been seeing him often?” Her gray eyes are now glazed
over, threatening to spill tears at any moment, but knowing
this woman, she would never in a million years shed a tear in
front of anyone, especially me.
I sigh, not wanting to betray Tessa, but reluctant to cause
any more shit with her mum. “He stayed with us for a few
days.”
“She wasn’t going to tell me, was she?” Her voice is thin
and hoarse while she picks at her red fingernails.
“Probably not. You aren’t the easiest person to talk to,” I
remind her. I wonder if this is a good time to bring up my
suspicion about him breaking into the apartment.
“And you are?” She raises her voice, and I step closer. “At
least I care about her well-being; that’s more than I can say for
you!”
I knew the civil conversation between us wouldn’t last
long. “I care about her more than anyone, even you!” I fire
back.
“I am her mother; no one loves her more than I do. The fact
that you think you possibly could just shows how demented
you really are!” Her shoes click against the floor as she paces
back and forth.
“You know what I think? I think that you hate me because I
remind you of him. You hate the constant reminder of what
you ruined, so you hate me so you don’t have to hate
yourself . . . but do you want to know something?” I wait for
her sarcastic nod before continuing: “You and I are a lot alike,
too. More alike than Richard and I, really: we both refuse to
take any responsibility for our mistakes. Instead we blame
everyone else. We isolate the ones we love and force them—”
“No! You’re wrong!” she cries out.
Her tears and histrionics somehow keep me from finishing
that thought: that she will spend the rest of her days alone.
“No, I’m not wrong. But what I am is leaving. Tessa’s car is
still around school somewhere, so I’ll bring it back tomorrow
unless you want to make the drive yourself.”
Carol wipes at her eyes. “Fine, bring the car. At five
tomorrow.” She looks up at me through bloodshot eyes and
smeared mascara. “That doesn’t change anything. I’ll never
like you.”
“And I’ll never care if you do.” I walk toward the front
door, momentarily debating whether I should go back down
the hallway, get Tessa, and bring her with me.
“Hardin, despite the way I feel toward you, I do know that
you love my daughter. I just want to remind you again that if
you love her—truly love her—you will stop interfering in her
life. She’s not the same girl that I dropped off at that devil
school half a year ago.”
“I know.” As much as I hate this woman, I feel pity for her,
because, like me, she’ll probably be alone for the rest of her
miserable life. “Can you do me a favor?” I ask.
She eyes me suspiciously. “What would that be?”
“Don’t tell her that I was here. If she doesn’t remember,
don’t tell her.” Tessa is so out of it she probably won’t
remember a thing. I don’t think she even knows that I’m here
now.
Carol looks at me, looks through me, and nods. “That I can
do.”
chapter sixty-four
TESSA
My head is heavy, so heavy, and the light shining through the
yellow curtains is bright, too bright.
Yellow curtains? I reopen my eyes to find the familiar
yellow curtains of my old bedroom covering the windows.
Those curtains always drove us both crazy, but my mother
couldn’t afford to buy a matching set, so we learned to live
with them. And the last twelve hours come flooding back in
pieces, broken and jumbled memories that make little sense to
me.
Nothing makes sense. It takes seconds, minutes maybe, for
my mind to even attempt to comprehend what happened.
Steph’s betrayal is my strongest memory from the night,
one of the most painful memories I have ever had to
experience. How could she do that to me? To anyone? The
whole situation is just so wrong, so twisted, and I never saw it
coming. I remember the strong sense of relief I felt when she
walked into the room, only to slip back into a panic when she
admitted she had never been a friend to me after all. Her voice
was so clear, despite the state I was in. She put something in
my drink to slow me down, or worse, to make me pass out—
all so she could get some sort of unwarranted revenge on me
and Hardin. I was so afraid last night, and she went from being
my safety to being a predator so quickly that I could barely
comprehend the shift.
I was drugged, at a party by someone who I thought was
my friend. The reality of this hits me hard, and I swipe angrily
at the tears soaking my cheeks.
Humiliation replaces the sting of betrayal when I remember
Dan and his camera. They took off my dress . . . the small red
camera light in the dim room is something I don’t think I’ll
ever forget. They wanted to violate me, tape it, and show it to
an audience. I hold my stomach, hoping to not get sick, again.
Every single time I think I may get a break from the
constant battle that has become my life, something worse
happens. And I keep putting myself in these situations. Steph,
of all people? I still can’t grasp it. If her reasoning was true, if
she did it only because she doesn’t like me and she has a thing
for Hardin, why didn’t she just tell me in the first place? Why
did she pretend to be my friend all this time only to set me up?
How could she smile in my face and go shopping with me,
listen to my secrets and share my worries, only to be planning
something like this behind my back?
I sit up slowly, and it’s still too fast. My pulse is pounding
behind my ears, and I want to rush to the bathroom and force
myself to throw up, in case any of the drug remains in my
stomach. I don’t, though, and instead close my eyes again.
When I wake up again, my head is a little lighter, and I
manage to get out of my childhood bed. I don’t have any pants
on, only a small T-shirt that I don’t remember putting on in the
first place. My mother must have dressed me . . . but that
doesn’t seem likely.
The only pajama pants left in my old dresser are
uncomfortably tight and too short. I have gained weight since I
left for college, but I feel more confortable and confident in
my body . . . more now than I ever felt before.
I wobble out of the bedroom, down the hallway, and to the
kitchen, where I find my mother leaning against the counter,
reading a magazine. Her black dress is smooth and lint-free,
her matching heels are high, and her hair is curled into perfect,
classic waves. When I glance at the clock on the stove, I see
that it’s a bit past four in the afternoon.
“How are you feeling?” my mother asks timidly as she
turns to face me.
“Terrible,” I groan, unable to put on a friendly, much less a
brave face.
“I’d imagine, after the night you had.”
Here we go . . .
“Have some coffee and some Advil; you’ll feel better.”
I nod slowly and walk over to the cabinet to grab a coffee
mug.
“I have church this evening; I assume you won’t be coming
along? You missed the morning service,” she says in a flat
voice.
“No, I’m in no shape to be in church right now.” Only my
mother would ask me to go to church with her when I just
woke up after sleeping off a date-rape drug.
She grabs her handbag from the kitchen table, then turns
back to me. “Okay, I’ll tell Noah and Mr. and Mrs. Porter you
said hello. I’ll be home around eight, maybe shortly after.”
A pang of guilt hits me at the mention of Noah’s name. I
still haven’t called him since I learned of his grandmother’s
passing. I know I should have, and I need to. I’ll do it after
church ends—if I can find my phone, that is.
“How did I get here last night?” I ask, trying to put the
pieces of the puzzle together. I remember Zed storming into
Hardin’s old room and breaking the camera.
“The young man who brought you was named Zed, I
believe.” She looks back down at her magazine and quietly
clears her throat.
“Oh.”
I hate this. I hate not knowing. I like to be in control of
everything, and last night I wasn’t in control of my thoughts or
of my body.
My mother puts down the magazine with what sounds like
a slap. She looks at me blankly, says, “Call me if you need
anything,” and walks toward the front door.
“Okay . . .”
Turning, my mother gives one last disapproving glance
toward my tight pajamas and leaves the house. “Oh, and go
through my closet and find yourself something to wear.”
The moment the screen door closes, a flash of Hardin’s
voice pops into my mind.
This is all my fault, he said. It couldn’t have been Hardin—
my mind is playing tricks on me. I need to call Zed and thank
him for everything. I owe him so much for coming to my aid,
for saving me. I’m so grateful to him, and I’ll never be able to
thank him enough for helping me and driving me all the way
here. I can’t imagine what would have happened in front of
that camera had he not shown up.
Salty tears mix with black coffee for the next half hour.
Finally, I force myself from the table and into the bathroom to
wash last night’s disgusting events from my body. By the time
I’m searching in my mother’s closet for something without a
built-in underwire bra, I feel a good deal better.
“Do you not own any normal clothing?” I groan, pushing
through hanger after hanger holding cocktail dresses. I’m at
the point where I would rather sit naked before I finally find a
cream-colored sweater and dark jeans. The jeans fit perfectly,
and the sweater is tight on my chest, but I’m grateful to have
found anything casual at all, so I’m not going to complain.
Searching the house for my phone and purse, I realize that I
don’t have a single memory that could point me toward their
hiding place. Why can’t my mind just clear through the
jumbled night and make sense of everything? I’m assuming
my car is still parked outside of Steph’s dorm; hopefully she
hasn’t slashed my tires.
I go back into my old bedroom and pull open the desk
drawer. My phone sits inside, on top of my small purse. I press
the power button and wait for the home screen to appear. I
nearly turn it back off when the alert vibrations go on
endlessly. Text message after text message, voicemail after
voicemail, pop onto the small screen.
Hardin . . . Hardin . . . Zed . . . Hardin . . . unknown . . .
Hardin . . . Hardin . . .
My stomach flutters in the most uncomfortable way as I
read his name on the screen. He knows; he has to. Someone
told him what happened, and that’s why he called and text-
messaged me so many times. I should call him and at least let
him know that I’m okay before he worries himself crazy.
Regardless of the state of our relationship, he’s probably upset
after hearing about what happened . . . “upset” being an
understatement, for sure.
I hang up the phone after six rings, just as his voicemail
picks up, and head back into my mother’s bedroom to attempt
to style my hair. The last thing I care about is my appearance
right now, but I also don’t care for the idea of listening to my
mother’s insults if I don’t make myself look at least decent.
Dealing with my appearance also helps to distract me from my
anxiety over the scattershot memories of last night that flash
into my mind occasionally. I cover the deep circles under my
eyes and apply a few swipes of mascara and brush my hair. It’s
nearly dry now, working in my favor as I rake my fingers
through the natural waves. It doesn’t look nearly as good as I
would like, but I don’t have the energy to mess with the frizzy
mess any longer than I already have.
The faint sound of someone knocking at the front door
draws me out of my daze. Who could be coming here at this
time? And suddenly my stomach turns at the thought of
Hardin being on the other side of the door.
“Tessa?” a familiar voice calls as I hear the door open.
Noah lets himself in, and I see him in the living room.
Relief and guilt hit me as I take in his familiar but shaky smile.
“Hey . . .” He nods, shifting from one foot to the other.
Without thinking, I practically throw myself at him,
wrapping my arms around his neck. I bury my face in his chest
and begin to cry.
His strong arms wrap around me and hold me, keeping both
of us from toppling over. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m just . . . No, I’m not.” I lift my head from his
chest, not wanting to smear my mascara on his tan cardigan.
“Your mom said you were in town.” He continues to hold
me while I continue to relish the familiarity of him. “So I kind
of ducked out before the service ended so I could say hey
without everyone around. So what happened?”
“So much, too much to even explain. I’m being so
dramatic,” I groan and step away from him.
“College still isn’t treating you the way you hoped?” he
asks with a sympathetic little smile.
I shake my head and gesture for him to follow me into the
kitchen, where I make another pot of coffee. “No, not at all.
I’m moving to Seattle.”
“Your mom told me,” he says and sits at the table.
“Are you still thinking of going to WCU in the spring?” I
bark out a little laugh. “I wouldn’t recommend that school.”
But trying to make a joke at my own expense fails as tears fill
my eyes.
“Yeah, that’s the plan. This . . . girl I’ve been seeing . . .
we’ve been thinking about San Francisco, though. You know
how I love California.”
I wasn’t prepared for that—Noah dating someone. I
suppose I should have been, but it feels so weird that all I can
think to say is, “Oh?”
Noah’s blue eyes shine under the fluorescent kitchen lights.
“Yeah, it’s been going pretty well. I’ve been trying to take it in
stride, though, you know . . . because of everything.”
Not wanting him to finish that thought and make me feel
even more guilty about how we broke up, I ask, “Uhm, so how
did you two meet?”
“Well, she works at Zooms or something, a store in the mall
near you, and—”
“You were in town?” I interrupt him. It feels strange that he
didn’t tell me, didn’t stop by . . . but I get it.
“Yeah, to see Becca. I should have called you or something,
but everything was so weird between us . . .”
“I know, it’s okay,” I assure him and let him finish. That
name, Becca, rings a bell . . . but the fragment of memory
drops from my mind as he continues.
“Well, anyway, I guess after that, we got pretty close. We
had some problems here and there, and I thought I couldn’t
trust her for a while, but we’re doing pretty good now.”
Hearing about his woes brings me back to my own, and I
sigh. “I feel like I can’t trust anyone anymore.” When Noah
frowns, I hastily add, “Except you. I’m not talking about you.
Every single person that I’ve met since I arrived at that school
has lied to me in some way.”
Even Hardin. Especially Hardin.
“Is that what happened last night?”
“Sort of . . .” I wonder what my mother told him.
“I knew it had to be something big to bring you home.” I
nod, and he reaches across the table to clasp my hands in his.
“I missed you,” he murmurs, sadness clear in his voice.
I look up at him with wide eyes; I can feel the tears coming
again. “I’m so sorry that I haven’t called about your grandma.”
“It’s okay, I know you’re busy.” He leans back against the
chair with soft eyes.
“That’s not an excuse, I’ve been so terrible to you.”
“You haven’t,” he lies, shaking his head slowly.
“You know that I have. I’ve treated you so poorly since I
left home, and I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of it.”
“Stop beating yourself up; I’m okay now,” he assures me
with a warm smile, but the guilt doesn’t subside.
“I still shouldn’t have done it.”
Then he surprises me with something I wouldn’t have
expected him to ever ask. “If you could do it all over again,
what would you change?”
“The way I went about things. I shouldn’t have strung you
along and gone behind your back. I’ve known you half my life
and I dropped you so suddenly, it was terrible of me.”
“It was,” he starts, “but I get it now. We weren’t good for
each other . . . Well, we were perfect together,” he says with a
laugh. “But I think that was actually the problem.”
The small kitchen feels more spacious now as my guilt
begins to dissolve. “You think so?”
“Yeah, I do. I love you, and I’ll always love you. I just
don’t love you the way I always thought I did, and you could
never love me the way you love him.”
I choke on my breath at his mention of Hardin. He’s right,
he’s so right, but I can’t talk about Hardin with Noah. Not
right now.
I need to change the subject. “So Becca makes you happy,
then?”
“Yeah, she’s different than you’d probably expect, but then,
Hardin isn’t exactly who I expected you to break up with me
for.” His smile isn’t harsh as he chuckles softly. “I guess we
both needed something different.”
He’s right, yet again. “I guess so.” I laugh along with him
and we continue to lighten the conversation until another
knock at the door interrupts us.
“I’ll get it,” he says, standing to his feet and leaving the
small kitchen before I can stop him.
chapter sixty-five
HARDIN
Watching the clock change from minute to minute is slowly
murdering me. I’d rather pull my hair out piece by piece than
sit here and wait in this goddamned driveway until five. I
don’t see Tessa’s mum’s car. There are no cars in the driveway
except Tessa’s, which I’m sitting in. Landon has parked on the
street, having followed me here so I get a lift back. Luckily he
cares about Tessa’s well-being more than anyone except me,
so it didn’t take any convincing.
“Go knock on the door, or I will,” he threatens through the
phone.
“I’m going to! Fuck, give me a second. I don’t know if
anyone’s here.”
“Well, if not, leave the keys in the mailbox, and we’ll go.”
That’s exactly why I haven’t done that already—I want her to
be inside. I have to know that she’s okay.
“I’m going up now,” I say and hang up on my obnoxious
stepbrother.
The seventeen steps up to her mum’s front door are the
worst of my life. I knock on the outer screen door, but I’m not
sure if it was loud enough. Fuck it. I knock again, this time
much harder. Too hard, too hard. I put my hand down when
the flimsy aluminum bends, snapping a couple pieces of wire
from the screen. Shit.
The door creaks open, and instead of Tessa, her mum, or
anyone else on the fucking planet that I’d rather see, it’s Noah.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I say.
When he tries to close the door in my face, I stop it with my
boot.
“Don’t be a dick.” I push the door open, and he steps back.
“Why are you here?” he asks, his face etched in a deep
scowl. I should be asking him why the fuck he is here. Tessa
and I haven’t been separated three days, and here this asshole
is, worming his way back into her life.
“To drop her car off.” I look behind him, but I can’t see
shit. “Is she here?” The entire way here, I told myself that I
didn’t want her to see me or remember that I was at her house
at all last night, but I know I was just bullshitting myself.
“Maybe. Does she know you’re coming?” Noah crosses his
arms, and it takes every bit of self-control I have not to knock
him to the ground, step over him—maybe on him—and find
her.
“No. I just want to make sure that she’s okay. What did she
tell you?” I ask him, backing back off of the porch.
“Nothing. She didn’t have to. She doesn’t have to tell me
anything. I know she wouldn’t come all the way here if you
hadn’t done something to her.”
I frown. “You’re wrong, actually; it wasn’t me . . . this
time.” He looks surprised by my small admission, so I
continue—peacefully, for now. “Look, I know you hate me,
and you have every reason to, but I will see her one way or
another, so you can either move out of my way or I’ll—”
“Hardin?” Tessa’s voice is a small whisper, nearly lost in
the breeze, as she appears behind Noah.
“Hey . . .” My feet carry me inside the house, and Noah
sensibly moves out of my way. “Are you okay?” I ask,
cupping her cheeks in my cold hands.
Her head jerks away—because of the cold, I force myself to
believe—and she steps back from me. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she
lies.
Questions tumble out of my mouth. “Are you sure? How
are you feeling? Did you sleep? Does your head ache?”
“Yes, okay, some, yes,” she answers, nodding along, but I
already forgot what I asked her in the first place.
“Who told you?” she asks me, her cheeks a deep red.
“Molly.”
“Molly?”
“Yeah, she called when you were . . . um, in my old room.”
I can’t keep the panic from my voice.
“Oh . . .” She looks past me, focusing on some distant
space, her eyebrows drawn together in concentration.
Does she remember that I was here? Do I want her to?
Yes, of course I do. “You’re okay, though?”
“Yes.”
Noah steps to where we’re standing, and with alarm clear in
his voice asks, “Tessa, what happened?”
Looking back at Tessa, I can tell she doesn’t want him to
know about everything. I like the idea of that more than I
should.
“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” I answer him so she
doesn’t have to.
“Was it serious?” he presses.
“I said, don’t worry about it,” I growl, and he gulps. I turn
back to Tessa. “I brought your car,” I tell her.
“You did?” she says. “Thanks, I thought Steph would have
busted the windshield or something.” She sighs, her shoulders
slouching further with every word. Her attempt at a joke didn’t
work for anyone, herself included.
“Why did you go to her, anyway? Out of all people, why
her?” I ask her.
She looks at Noah, then back to me. “Noah, can you give us
a minute?” she sweetly requests.
He nods and gives me what I assume is supposed to be
some kind of warning glare before leaving us alone in the
small living room.
“Why her? Tell me, please,” I repeat.
“I don’t know. I didn’t have anywhere else to go, Hardin.”
“You could have gone to Landon; you practically have your
own bedroom at that house,” I point out.
“I don’t want to keep dragging your family into it. I’ve
done it enough, and it’s not fair to them.”
“And you knew I would go there?” When she looks down
at her hands, I say, “I wouldn’t have.”
“Okay,” she says sadly.
Fuck, that’s not what I meant. “I didn’t mean it like that. I
meant I was going to give you space.”
“Oh,” she whispers while picking at her fingernails.
“You’re being really quiet.”
“I’m just . . . I don’t know. It’s been a long night and
morning.” She frowns. I want to walk over and smooth the line
between her brows and kiss her pain away.
“No Hardin, Zed,” she called out in her barely conscious
state.
“I know, do you remember it?” I ask her, not sure if I can
bear to listen to her response.
I expect her to tell me to go away or cuss me out even, but
she doesn’t. Instead she nods and sits down on the couch,
gesturing for me to sit on the other side.
chapter sixty-six
HARDIN
I want to move closer to her, to reach for her shaking hand and
find a way to erase her memories. I hate that she went through
such an ordeal, and I’m once again blown away by her
strength. She’s sitting up, her back as straight as a board, and
ready to talk to me.
“Why did you come here?” she asks quietly.
By way of answer, I ask, “Why is he here?” and nod my
head toward the kitchen. I just know Noah is perched against
the wall, listening in to our conversation. I really can’t fucking
stand him, but given the circumstances, I should probably shut
up about it.
Playing with her hands, she says, “He’s here to check on
me.”
“He doesn’t need to check on you.” That’s why I’m here.
“Hardin”—she frowns—“not today. Please.”
“Sorry . . .” I inch back, feeling like an even bigger asshole
than I did seconds ago.
“Why did you come here?” Tessa asks again.
“To bring your car. You don’t want me here, do you?” I
haven’t once, until now, even considered that possibility. And
it burns through me like acid. My being here might only be
making things worse for her. The days of her finding solace in
me are no longer.
“It’s not that . . . I’m just confused.”
“About what?”
Her eyes shine under the dim lights of her mum’s living
room. “You, last night, Steph, everything. Did you know that it
was all a game to her, and she really has hated me all this
time.”
“No, of course I didn’t know,” I tell her.
“You had no idea that she had any bad feelings toward
me?”
Dammit. But I want to be honest, so I say, “Maybe a little, I
guess. Molly had mentioned it once or twice, but she didn’t
elaborate, and I didn’t think it was something to this extent—
or that Molly even knew what she was talking about.”
“Molly? Since when does Molly care about me?”
So black and white. Tessa always wants things to be so
black and white, and it makes me shake my head, a little sad
that things just can never be so simple. “She doesn’t, she hates
you still,” I tell her and look down. “But she called me after
that Applebee’s shit, and I was mad. I didn’t want her or Steph
to ruin things between me and you. I thought Steph was trying
to meddle just to be a nosy bitch. I didn’t think she was a
fucking psycho.”
When I look over at Tessa, she’s wiping tears from her
eyes. I move across the couch to close the space between us,
and she recoils. “Hey, it’s okay,” I say and grab her arm to pull
her to my chest. “Shhh . . .” My hand rests over her hair, and
after a few seconds of trying to pull away, she gives in.
“I just want to start over. I want to forget about everything
that’s happened in the last six months,” she sobs.
My chest tightens as I nod along, agreeing with her even
though I don’t want to. I don’t want her to want to forget me.
“I hate college. I always looked forward to it, but it’s been
one mistake after another for me.” She pulls at my shirt,
bringing herself closer to me. I stay silent, not wanting to
make her feel any worse than she’s already feeling. I didn’t
have a fucking clue of what I was walking into when I
knocked on the door, but I sure as hell didn’t expect to have a
crying Tessa in my arms.
“I’m being so dramatic.” She pulls away too soon, and for a
moment I consider pulling her back to me.
“No. No, you’re not. You’re being really calm, considering
what happened. Tell me what you remember, don’t make me
ask again. Please.”
“It’s all a blur really, it was so . . . strange. I was aware of
everything but nothing made any sense. I don’t know how to
explain it. I couldn’t move, but I could feel things.” She
shudders.
“Feel things? Where did he touch you?” I don’t want to
know.
“My legs . . . they undressed me.”
“Only your legs?” Please say yes.
“Yes, I think so. It could have been so much worse, but Zed
—” She stops. Takes a breath. “Anyway, the pills made my
body so heavy . . . I don’t know how to explain it.”
I nod. “I know what you mean.”
“What?”
Broken memoires of blacking out in bars and stumbling
down the streets of London race through my mind. The idea of
fun that I once had is completely different from what I
consider to be fun now. “I used to take them now and then for
fun.”
“You did?” Her mouth falls open, and I don’t like how her
look makes me feel.
“I guess ‘fun’ isn’t really the word,” I backtrack. “Not
anymore.”
She nods and gives me a sweet, relieved smile. She adjusts
the collar of her sweater, which I see now is pretty tight on her.
“Where did that come from?” I ask.
“The sweater?” She gives me a wry smile. “It’s my
mother’s . . . can’t you tell?” Her fingers tug at the thick
fabric.
“I don’t know. Noah was at the door, and you’re dressed
like that . . . I thought I had stepped into a time machine,” I
tease. Her eyes light up with humor, all sadness momentarily
washed away, and she bites down on her lip in an attempt to
stop from laughing.
She sniffles and reaches over to the small table to pull a
tissue from the floral box. “No. There are no time machines.”
Tessa shakes her head back and forth slowly while wiping at
her nose.
Fuck, even after crying she’s so damned beautiful. ’ “I was
worried about you,” I tell her.
Her smile disappears. Fuck.
“This is what confuses me,” she says. “You told me you
didn’t want to try anymore, but here you are telling me that
you were worried about me.” She stares at me blankly, her lip
trembling.
She’s right. I don’t always say it, but it’s true. I spend hours
a day worrying about her. Emotion . . . this is what I need from
her. I need the reassurance.
But she takes my silence the wrong way. “It’s okay, I’m not
upset with you. I do appreciate you coming here and bringing
my car. It means a lot to me that you did that.”
I remain mute on the couch, unable to talk for some time.
“It’s nothing,” I finally manage to say with a shrug. But I
need to say something real, anything.
After watching more of my painful silence for a moment,
Tessa goes into polite hostess mode. “How will you get home?
Wait . . . how did you even know how to get here?”
Shit. “Landon. He told me.”
Her eyes light up again. “Oh, he’s here?”
“Yeah, he’s outside.”
She flushes and rises to her feet. “Oh! I’m keeping you, I’m
sorry.”
“No, you aren’t. He’s fine out there waiting,” I stammer. I
don’t want to leave. Unless you’re coming with me.
“He should have come inside.” She glances toward the
door.
“He’s fine.” My voice comes out much too sharp.
“Thank you again for bringing my car . . .” She’s trying to
dismiss me in a polite way. I know her.
“Do you want me to bring your stuff inside?” I offer.
“No, I’m leaving in the morning, so it’s easier to keep it in
there.”
Why does it surprise me that every single time she opens
her mouth, she reminds me that she’s going to Seattle? I keep
waiting for her to change her mind, but it will never happen.
chapter sixty-seven
TESSA
As Hardin reaches the door, I ask, “What did you do about
Dan?”
I want to know more about last night, even if Noah can hear
us talking. As we pass him in the hallway, Hardin doesn’t so
much as look at him. Noah glares, though, unsure of what to
do, I assume.
“Dan. You said Molly told you. What did you do?” I know
Hardin well enough to know that he went after him. I’m still
surprised by Molly’s help—I was far from expecting it when
she walked into the bedroom last night. I shudder at the
memory.
Hardin half smiles. “Nothing too bad.”
I didn’t kill Dan when I found him; I only kicked him in the
face . . .
“You kicked him in the face . . .” I say, trying to dig through
the mess in my head.
He raises a brow. “Yeah . . . Did Zed tell you that?”
“I . . . I don’t know . . .” I remember hearing the words, I
just can’t remember who said them.
I’m Hardin, not Zed, Hardin said—his voice in my mind
feels so real.
“You were here, weren’t you? Last night?” I step toward
him. He backs into the wall. “You were; I remember it. You
said you were going to drink and you didn’t . . .”
“I didn’t think you remembered,” Hardin mutters.
“Why wouldn’t you just tell me?” My head aches while I
struggle to separate drug-induced dreaming from reality.
“I don’t know. I was going to, but then everything got so
familiar and you were smiling and I didn’t want to ruin it.” He
shrugs one shoulder, and his eyes focus on the large painting
of the golden gates of Heaven on my mother’s wall.
“How would you telling me that you drove me home ruin
it?”
“I didn’t drive you home. Zed did.”
I remembered that earlier, sort of. This is so frustrating.
“So you came after? What was I doing?” I want Hardin to
help me put together the sequence of events. I can’t seem to do
it on my own.
“You were lying on the couch; you could barely speak.”
“Oh . . .”
“You were calling out for him,” he adds quietly, venom
laced through his deep voice.
“For who?”
“Zed.” His answer is simple, but I can feel the emotion
behind it.
“No, I wasn’t.” That doesn’t make sense. “This is so
frustrating.” I sift through the mental mud and finally find a
lump of sense . . . Hardin speaking about Dan, Hardin asking
me if I can hear him, me asking him about Zed . . .
“I wanted to know about him, if you had hurt him. I think.”
The memory is fuzzy, but it’s there.
“You said his name more than once; it’s okay. You were so
out of it.” His eyes drop to the carpet and stay there. “I didn’t
expect you to want me anyway.”
“I didn’t want him. I may not remember much, but I was
afraid. I know myself enough to know that I would only call
for you,” I admit without thinking.
Why did I just say that? Hardin and I broke up, again. This
is our second actual breakup, but it feels like there have been
so many more. Maybe because this time I haven’t jumped into
his arms at the slightest sign of affection from him. This time I
left the house and the gifts from Hardin; this time I’m leaving
for Seattle in less than twenty-four hours.
“Come here,” he says, holding his arms open.
“I can’t.” I take a page from his book and run my fingers
over my hair.
“Yes, you can.”
Whenever Hardin is around me, despite the situation, the
familiarity of him always seeps into every fiber of my being.
We either scream at each other or we smile and tease. There’s
never any distance, no middle ground between us. It’s such a
natural thing for me now, an instinct really, to let myself find
comfort in his arms, laugh at his stale attitude, and ignore the
issues that caused us to be in whatever terrible situation that
we’re in at the time.
“We aren’t together anymore,” I say quietly, more to
remind myself.
“I know.”
“I can’t pretend that we are.” I pull my bottom lip between
my teeth and try not to notice the way his eyes dull at the
reminder of our status.
“I’m not asking you to do that. All I’m asking is for you to
come here.” His arms are still open, still long and inviting,
calling for me, pulling me closer and closer.
“And if I do, we’ll only fall back into repeating the cycle
that we both decided to end.”
“Tessa . . .”
“Hardin, please.” I back away. This living room is much
too small for me to avoid him, and my self-control is faltering.
“Fine.” He finally sighs and his hands tug at his hair, his
usual sign of frustration.
“We need this, you know that we do. We have to spend
some time apart.”
“Some time apart?” He looks wounded, pissed off, and I’m
a little afraid of what will come out of his mouth next. I don’t
want a fight with him, and today isn’t the day for him to try to
start one.
“Yes, some time alone. We can’t get along and everything
seems to always be working against us. You said yourself the
other day that you were sick of it. You kicked me out of the
apartment.” I cross my arms in front of my chest.
“Tessa . . . you can’t be fucking—” He looks into my eyes
and stops midsentence. “How much time?”
“What?”
“How much time apart?”
“I . . .” I didn’t expect him to agree. “I don’t know.”
“A week? A month?” He pushes for specifics.
“I don’t know, Hardin. We both need to get ourselves to a
better place.”
“You’re my better place, Tess.”
His words swarm through my chest, and I force my eyes to
move from his face before I lose whatever resistance I have
left. “You’re mine, too, you know you are, but you’re so angry
and I’m always on edge with you. You have to do something
about your anger, and I need time to myself.”
“So this is my fault, again?” he asks.
“No, it’s me, too. I’m too dependent on you. I need to be
more independent.”
“Since when does any of this matter?” The tone of his voice
tells me that he hasn’t ever considered my dependency on him
a problem.
“Since we had that massive blowup at the apartment a few
nights ago. Actually, it started a while ago; Seattle and the
argument the other night were just the icing on the cake.”
When I finally gather the courage to look up at Hardin, I
see that his expression has changed.
“Okay. I get it,” he says. “I’m sorry, I know I fuck up a lot.
We’ve already beaten the Seattle thing into the ground, and
maybe it’s time that I start listening to you more.” He reaches
for my hand, and I let him take it, momentarily baffled by his
newfound agreeability. “I’ll give you some space, okay?
You’ve dealt with enough shit in the past twenty-four hours
alone. I don’t want to be another problem . . . for once.”
“Thank you,” I respond simply.
“Can you let me know when you get to Seattle? And get
some food in your stomach, and rest, please.” His green eyes
are soft, warm, and comforting.
And I want to ask him to stay, but I know it’s not a good
idea.
“I will. Thank you . . . Really.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” His hands push into the tight
pockets of his black jeans, and his eyes measure my face. “I’ll
tell Landon you said hello,” he says and walks out the door.
I can’t help but smile at the way he lingers by Landon’s car,
staring at my mother’s house for a long beat before getting
into the passenger seat.
chapter sixty-eight
TESSA
The moment that Landon’s car is out of sight, the emptiness
weighs heavy on my chest, and I step back from the entryway,
letting the door close.
Noah is leaning against the threshold between the living
room and kitchen. “Is he gone?” he asks gently.
“Yeah, he’s gone.” My voice is distant, unfamiliar even to
myself.
“I didn’t know you guys weren’t together.”
“We . . . well . . . we’re just trying to figure everything out.”
“Can you tell me one thing before you change the subject?”
His eyes scan my face. “I know that look—you’re about to
find a reason to.”
Even after the months we’ve been apart, Noah still reads
me so well. “What do you want to know?” I ask.
His blue eyes stare into mine. He holds my gaze for a long
time, a bravely long time. “If you could go back, would you,
Tessa? I heard you say you want to erase the last six
months . . . but if you could, would you, really?”
Would I?
I sit down on the couch to ponder his question. Would I
take it all back? Erase everything that’s happened to me in the
last six months? The bet, the endless fights with Hardin, the
downward spiral of my relationship with my mother, Steph’s
betrayal, all the humiliation, everything.
“Yes. In a heartbeat.”
Hardin’s hand on mine, the way his inked arms wrapped
around me, pulling me to his chest. The way he sometimes
laughed so hard that his eyes would pinch closed and the
sound would fill my ears, my heart, and the entire apartment
with such a rare happiness that I felt more alive than I’d ever
felt before.
“No. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t,” I say, changing my answer.
Noah shakes his head. “Which is it?” He chuckles and sits
on the recliner across from the couch. “I’ve never known you
to be so indecisive.”
I shake my head firmly. “I wouldn’t erase it.”
“You’re sure? It’s been a bad year for you . . . and I don’t
even know the half of it.”
“I’m sure.” I nod a couple of times, then take a seat on the
edge of the couch. “I would do some things differently,
though, with you.”
Noah gives me a slight smile. “Yeah, me, too,” he quietly
agrees.
“THERESA.” A hand grasps my shoulder and shakes me.
“Theresa, wake up.”
“I’m up.” I groan and open my eyes. The living room. I’m
in my mother’s living room. I kick a blanket off my legs . . . a
blanket Noah covered me with when I lay down after we
talked a bit more and then started to watch some TV together.
Just like old times.
I wriggle out of my mother’s grip. “What time is it?”
“Nine p.m. I was going to wake you up earlier.” She purses
her lips.
It must have been driving her insane to let me sleep the day
away. Oddly, the thought amuses me.
“Sorry, I don’t even remember falling asleep.” I stretch my
arms and stand to my feet. “Did Noah leave?” I peer into the
kitchen, and I don’t see him.
“Yes. Mrs. Porter really wanted to see you, but I told her it
wasn’t a good time,” she says and goes into the kitchen.
I follow her, smelling something cooking. “Thank you.” I
do wish I’d said a proper goodbye to Noah, especially because
I know I’ll see him again.
My mother goes to the stove and says over her shoulder,
“Hardin brought your car, I see,” disapproval coloring her
voice. A moment later, she turns from the stove and hands me
a plate of lettuce and grilled tomatoes.
I haven’t missed her idea of a good meal. But I take the
plate from her hand anyway.
“Why didn’t you tell me that Hardin came here that night? I
remember it now.”
She shrugs. “He asked me not to.”
Taking a seat at the table, I poke at the “meal” tentatively.
“Since when do you care what he wants?” I challenge, nervous
about her reaction . . .
“I don’t,” she says and prepares her own plate. “I didn’t
mention it because it’s in your best interest not to remember.”
My fork slips from my fingers and hits the plate with a
sharp clink. “Keeping things from me isn’t in my best
interest,” I say. I’m doing my best to keep my voice cool and
calm, I really am. To emphasize this, I dab the corners of my
mouth with a perfectly folded napkin.
“Theresa, do not take your frustrations out on me,” my
mother says, joining me at the table. “Whatever that man has
done to make you this way is your own fault. Not mine.”
The moment her red lips pull into a confident smirk, I stand
from the table, throw my napkin onto the plate, and storm out
of the room.
“Where are you going, young lady?” she calls.
“To bed. I have to get up at four in the morning, and I have
a long drive ahead of me,” I yell down the hallway and close
the door to my bedroom.
I take a seat on my childhood bed . . . and immediately the
light gray walls seem to be closing in on me. I hate this house.
I shouldn’t, but I do. I hate the way I feel inside it, like I can’t
breathe without being scolded or corrected. I never realized
how caged and controlled I had been my entire life until I had
my first taste of freedom with Hardin. I love having pizza for
dinner, spending the entire day naked in bed with him. No
folded napkins. No curled hair. No hideous yellow curtains.
Before I can stop myself, I’m calling him, and he’s
answering on the second ring.
“Tess?” he says, out of breath.
“Um, hey,” I whisper.
“What’s wrong?” he huffs.
“Nothing, are you all right?”
“Come on, Scott. Get back over here,” a female voice says
in the background.
My heart starts hammering against my rib cage as the
possibilities flood my mind. “Oh, you’re . . . I’ll let you go.”
“No, it’s fine. She can wait.” The background noise gets
softer and softer by the second. He must be walking away
from whoever she is.
“Really, it’s okay. I’ll just go, I don’t want to . . . interrupt
you.” Looking at the gray wall nearest my bed, I swear it’s
crept closer to me. Like it’s ready to pounce.
“Okay,” he breathes.
What?
“Okay, bye,” I say quickly and hang up, holding my hand
over my mouth to keep from vomiting on my mother’s carpet.
There has to be some sort of logical—
My phone buzzes next to my thigh, Hardin’s name clear on
the small screen. I answer despite myself.
“I’m not doing what you think I’m doing . . . I didn’t even
realize how it sounded,” he immediately states. I can hear a
harsh wind blowing around him, muffling his voice.
“It’s okay, really.”
“No, Tess, it wouldn’t be,” he says, calling me out. “If I
was with someone else right now, that wouldn’t be okay, so
stop acting like it would be.”
I lie back on the bed, admitting to myself that he’s right. “I
didn’t think you were doing anything,” I half lie. I somehow
knew he wasn’t, but my imagination . . . it took me there still.
“Good, maybe you finally trust me.”
“Maybe.”
“Which would be much more relevant if you hadn’t left
me.” His tone is sharp.
“Hardin . . .”
He sighs. “Why did you call? Is your mum being a bitch?”
“No, don’t call her that.” I roll my eyes. “Well . . . she kind
of is being one, but it’s nothing big. I’m just . . . I don’t know
why I called, really.”
“Well . . .” He pauses, and I hear a car door shut. “Do you
want to talk or something?”
“Is that okay? Can we?” I ask him. Only hours ago I was
telling him that I needed to be more independent, yet here I
am, calling him the moment I’m upset.
“Sure.”
“Where are you, anyway?” I need to keep the conversation
as neutral as possible . . . not that it’s ever possible to keep
things between Hardin and me neutral.
“A gym.”
I almost laugh. “A gym? You don’t go to the gym.” Hardin
is one of the few people to be blessed with an incredible body
without ever having to work out. His naturally large build is
perfect, tall with broad shoulders, even though he claims that
he was lanky and thin as a young teenager. His muscles are
hard but not too defined; his body is the perfect mixture of soft
and hard.
“I know. She was kicking my ass. I was genuinely
embarrassed.”
“Who?” I say a little forcefully. Calm down, Tessa, it’s
obviously the woman whose voice you heard.
“Oh, the trainer. I decided to use that kickboxing shit you
got me for my birthday.”
“Really?” The thought of Hardin kickboxing makes me
think about things that I shouldn’t be thinking about. Like him
sweating . . .
“Yeah,” he says, a little shyly.
I shake my head to try to cast out the image of him
shirtless. “How was it?”
“Okay, I guess. I prefer a different type of exercise. But on
the plus side, I’m a lot less tense than I was a few hours ago.”
I narrow my eyes at his response even though he can’t see
me.
My fingers trace the flower-print fabric of the comforter.
“Do you think you’ll go again?” I finally feel like I can
breathe as Hardin begins to tell me about how awkward the
first half hour of his session was, how he kept cursing at the
woman until she slapped him across the back of his head,
repeatedly, which, in turn made him respect her and stop being
such a jerk to her.
“Wait.” I finally speak. “Are you still there?”
“No, I’m home now.”
“You just . . . left? Did you tell her?”
“No, why would I?” he asks, as if people acted like him all
the time.
I like the idea that he dropped what he was doing just to
talk to me on the phone. I shouldn’t, but I do. Which warms
me, but also makes me sigh and say, “We aren’t doing a very
good job on this space thing.”
“We never do.” I can picture his smirk even though he’s
speaking from more than a hundred miles away.
“I know, but—”
“This is our version of space. You didn’t get in the car and
drive here. You only called.”
“I guess so . . .” I allow myself to agree with his twisted
logic. In a way, though, he’s right. I don’t know yet if it’s a
good or a bad thing.
“Is Noah still there?”
“No, he left hours ago.”
“Good.”
I’m looking at the darkness beyond the ugly curtains of my
room when Hardin laughs and says, “Talking on the phone is
so fucking weird.”
“Why?” I ask.
“I don’t know. We’ve been talking for over an hour.”
I pull my phone from my ear to check the time, and sure
enough, he’s right. “It doesn’t seem that long,” I say.
“I know, I never talk to anyone on the phone. Except when
you call me to bother me about bringing something home, or a
few calls to my friends, but they never last longer than like
two minutes.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, why would I? I was never into the teenage dating
shit; all my friends used to spend hours on the phone listening
to their girlfriends go on about nail polish or whatever the fuck
girls talk about for hours on end.” He laughs lightly, and I
frown a little at the reminder that Hardin never got the chance
to be a normal teenager.
“You didn’t miss out on much,” I assure him.
“Who did you used to talk to for hours? Noah?”
Spitefulness is clear in his question.
“No, I never did that talking-for-hours thing either. I was
busy shoving my nose into novels.” Perhaps I was never a true
teenager either.
“Well, I’m glad you were a nerd, then,” he says, making my
stomach flutter.
“Theresa!” I’m snapped back into reality as my mother
repeatedly calls for me.
“Oh, is it past your bedtime?” Hardin teases. Our
relationship, nonrelationship, giving-each-other-space-but-
talking-on-the-phone thing, has become even more confusing
within the last hour.
“Shut up,” I respond and cover the receiver long enough to
tell my mother I’ll be right out. “I need to see what she wants.”
“You’re really going tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I am.”
After a moment of silence, he says, “Okay, well, be safe . . .
I guess.”
“I can call you in the morning?” My voice is shaky as I
offer.
“No, we probably shouldn’t do this again,” he says, and my
chest tightens. “Well, not often, anyway. It doesn’t make sense
to talk all the time if we aren’t going to be together.”
“Okay.” My response sounds small, defeated.
“Good night, Tessa,” he says, and then the line goes dead.
He’s right—I know he is. But knowing that doesn’t make it
hurt any less. I shouldn’t even have called him in the first
place.
chapter sixty-nine
TESSA
It’s fifteen minutes until five o’clock in the morning, and for
once my mother isn’t dressed for going out. She’s wearing a
silk pajama suit and has her robe wrapped around her,
matching slippers covering her feet. My hair is still damp from
my shower, but I’ve taken the time to apply some makeup and
decent clothing.
My mother studies me. “You have everything you need,
correct?”
“Yes, everything I have is in my car,” I say.
“Okay, be sure to get gas before you leave town.”
“I’ll be fine, Mother.”
“I know. I’m only trying to help.”
“I know you are.” I open my arms to hug her goodbye, and
when she gives me a stiff little embrace, I pull back and decide
to pour myself a cup of coffee for the road. That small, silly
hope still nags at me, the foolish part of me that wishes so
badly that headlights will appear in the darkness, Hardin will
climb out of the car, bags in hand, and tell me that he’s ready
to go to Seattle with me.
But that foolish part of me is just that: foolish.
At ten minutes after five, I give my mother one last hug and
climb into the car, which fortunately I had the foresight to
warm up with the heater on. Kimberly and Christian’s address
is programmed into the GPS on my phone. It keeps closing
down and recalculating, and I haven’t even left the driveway. I
really do need a new phone. If Hardin were here, he’d remind
me repeatedly that this is another reason to get an iPhone.
But Hardin’s not here.
THE DRIVE IS LONG. I’m just at the beginning of my
adventure, and already a thick cloud of unease is forming
within me. Each small town that I pass makes me feel more
and more out of place, and I wonder if Seattle will feel even
worse. Will I settle in there, or will I run back to the main
WCU campus, or even to my mother’s place?
When I check the clock on my dashboard, I see it’s only
been an hour. Although, as I think about it, the hour did pass
pretty quickly, which, in an odd way, makes my mind begin to
feel lighter.
When I look again, twenty minutes have passed in a blink.
The farther I get from everything, the lighter my mind feels.
I’m not controlled by panicked thoughts as I drive down the
dark and unfamiliar roads. I focus on my future. The future
that no one can take from me, that no one can make me give
up. I stop frequently for coffee, snacks, and just to breathe in
the morning air. When the sun finally comes up halfway
through my drive, I focus on the bright yellow and orange
light it casts and the way the colors blend together, making a
beautiful, bright new beginning to the day. My mood lightens
with the sky, and I find myself singing along to Taylor Swift
and tapping my fingers on the steering wheel as she talks
about “trouble walking in”—and I laugh at the irony of the
lyrics.
As I pass the sign welcoming me to the City of Seattle, my
stomach fills with butterflies, the good kind. I’m doing this.
Theresa Young is now officially in Seattle, making a life for
herself at an age when most of her friends are still trying to
figure out what they want to do with their lives.
I did it. I didn’t repeat my mother’s mistakes and rely on
other people to carve my future for me. I had help, obviously
—and I’m grateful for it—but it’s up to me now to take it all to
the next level. I have an amazing internship, a sassy friend and
her loving fiancé, and a car full of my belongings.
I don’t have an apartment . . . I don’t have anything except
my books, the few boxes in my backseat, and my job.
But it will work out.
It will. It has to.
I will be happy in Seattle . . . it’ll be just like I had always
imagined it to be. It will.
Every single mile drags on and on . . . every second is filled
with memories, goodbyes, and doubts.
KIMBERLY AND CHRISTIAN’S HOUSE is even larger than
I had expected from Kimberly’s description. I’m nervous and
intimated by the driveway alone. Trees line the property, the
hedges around the house are well manicured, and the air
smells of some flower I don’t quite recognize. I park behind
Kimberly’s car and take a deep breath before climbing out.
The large wooden door is crested with a large V—and I’m
giggling at the arrogance of such a decoration when Kimberly
opens the door.
She raises her eyebrow to me and follows my eyes to the
door she’s just opened. “We didn’t put that there! I swear: the
last family that lived here was named Vermon!”
“I didn’t say anything,” I inform her with a shrug.
“I know what you’re thinking; it’s hideous. Christian is a
proud man, but even he wouldn’t do such a thing.” She taps
the letter with her red fingernail, and I laugh again as she
ushers me inside. “How was the drive? Come in, come in, it’s
cold out there.”
I follow her into the foyer and welcome the warm air and
sweet smell of a fireplace.
“It was okay . . . long,” I tell her.
“I hope I never have to make that drive again.” She
scrunches up her nose. “Christian’s at the office. I took the day
off to make sure you get settled in. Smith will be home from
school in a few hours.”
“Thank you again for letting me stay. I promise I won’t be
here longer than two weeks.”
“Don’t stress yourself; you’re finally in Seattle.” She
beams, and at last it hits me: I AM in Seattle!
chapter seventy
HARDIN
How was the kickboxing yesterday?” Landon asks, his voice
strained, his face contorted into a stupid-looking expression of
physical effort as he lifts yet another bag of mulch. When he
drops it into place, he puts his hands on his hips and says with
a dramatic eye roll, “You could help, you know.”
“I know,” I say from the chair I’m sitting on and prop my
feet up on one of the wooden shelves inside Karen’s
greenhouse. “Kickboxing was okay. The trainer was a woman,
so that was fucking lame.”
“Why? Because she kicked your butt?”
“You mean my ass? And no, she did not.”
“What made you go, anyway? I told Tess not to buy you
that pass to the gym, because you wouldn’t use it.”
Annoyance flares in my chest at the way he called her
“Tess.” I don’t like it one fucking bit. It’s only Landon, I
remind myself. Of all the shit I have to worry about right now,
Landon is the least of my concerns.
“Because I was enraged, and I felt like I was going to break
everything in that goddamned apartment. So when I noticed
the voucher as I was pulling out all of the drawers in the
dresser, I grabbed it, put my shoes on, and took off.”
“You pulled out all the drawers? Tessa’s going to kill
you . . .” He shakes his head and finally takes a seat on the
stack of mulch bags. I don’t know why he agreed to help his
mum move all this shit around, anyway.
“She won’t see it . . . it’s not her place anymore,” I remind
him, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.
He looks at me guiltily. “Sorry.”
“Yeah.” I sigh; I don’t even have a witty comeback.
“It’s hard for me to feel bad for you when you could be
there with her,” Landon says after a few beats of silence.
“Fuck you.” I lean my head back against the wall, and I can
feel him staring at me.
“It doesn’t make sense,” he adds.
“Not to you.”
“Or her. Or anyone.”
“I don’t have to explain myself to anyone,” I snap.
“Then why are you even here?”
Instead of answering him, I look around the greenhouse,
unsure of what I’m doing in this place myself. “I don’t have
anywhere else to go.”
Does he think that I don’t miss her every fucking second?
That I wouldn’t much rather be with her than standing here
talking to him?
He gives me a sideways look. “What about your friends?”
“You mean the one who fucking drugged Tessa? Or the
other one who set me up in order to tell her about the bet.” I
start counting them on my fingers to add to the dramatic
effect. “Or you could mean the one who is constantly trying to
get into her pants. Shall I go on?”
“Guess not. Though I could have told you that your friends
sucked,” he says in an annoying tone. “So what are you going
to do?”
Deciding that keeping the peace is better than murdering
him, I just shrug. “Exactly what I’m doing now.”
“So you’re going to hang out with me and mope around?”
“I’m not moping. I’m doing what you told me to do and
bettering myself,” I mock, using air quotes. “Have you talked
to her since she left?” I ask.
“Yeah, she texted me this morning to tell me she arrived.”
“She’s at Vance’s, isn’t she?”
“Why don’t you find out for yourself?”
Fuck, Landon is annoying. “I know she is. Where else
would she be?”
“With that Trevor guy,” Landon is quick to suggest. And
his smirk makes me reconsider the stay of execution I had just
granted him. If I tackled him, it wouldn’t hurt much; he’s only
about three feet off the ground anyway. It probably wouldn’t
even leave a bruise . . .
“I forgot about fucking Trevor,” I groan, rubbing harshly at
my temples. Trevor is almost as infuriating as Zed. Only, I
believe that Trevor does actually have good intentions when it
comes to Tessa, which only upsets me even more. It makes
him more dangerous.
“So what’s next in Project Self-Improvement?” Landon
smiles, but it fades quickly and his expression turns serious.
“I’m really proud of you for doing this, you know. It’s nice to
see you actually trying for once, instead of making an effort
for an hour, then going back to the way you were the moment
she forgives you. It’ll mean a lot to her to see you really
following through on these changes.”
I drop my feet and rock in the chair slightly. Talking like
this is stirring something up in me. “Don’t try to lecture me. I
haven’t done shit yet; it’s only been a day.” A long, miserable,
lonely day.
Landon’s eyes go wide in sympathy. “No, I’m serious. You
didn’t turn to alcohol and you haven’t gotten into a fight, you
haven’t been arrested, and I know you came to talk to your
dad.”
My mouth drops open. “He told you?” That fucker.
“No, he didn’t tell me. I live here, and I saw your car.”
“Oh . . .”
“I think you talking to him really would mean a lot to
Tessa,” he continues.
“Would you just stop?” I say, imploring him with a quick
hunch of my shoulders. “Fuck. You’re not my shrink. Stop
acting like you’re better than me and I’m some damaged
fucking animal that you need to—”
“Why can’t you just graciously accept a compliment?”
Landon says over me. “I never said I was better than you. All
I’m trying to do is be there for you as a friend. You don’t have
anyone—you said it yourself, and now that you let Tessa move
to Seattle, you don’t have a single person to give you moral
support.” He stares at me but I look away. “You have to stop
pushing people away, Hardin. I know you don’t like me—you
hate me because you think I’m somewhat responsible for some
of the issues you have with your dad, but I care deeply for
Tessa and you, whether you want to hear that or not.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I fire back at him. Why does he
always have to say shit like this? I came here to . . . I don’t
know, talk to him. Not to talk to him . . . not to have him tell
me how much he cares about me.
And why would he care about me, anyway? I’ve been
nothing but an asshole to him since the day I met him, but I
don’t hate him. Does he really think that I do?
“Well, that’s one of those things you need to work on.” He
stands to his feet and walks out of the greenhouse, leaving me
alone.
“Fuck.” I kick my foot out in front of me, and it collides
with the wooden shelving unit. A crack sounds through the
room, and I jump to my feet. “No, no, no!”
I try to catch the flower boxes, clay pots, and random shit
before they crash to the floor. Within seconds, all of it—the
pieces of all of it—is on the floor. This isn’t fucking
happening. I didn’t even mean to break this shit, and here I am
with a pile of dirt, flowers, and cracked pots at my feet.
Maybe I can clean some of this shit up before Karen . . .
“Oh my,” I hear her gasp, and I turn to the doorway to see
her standing there, a little trowel in her hand.
Fuuuck.
“I didn’t mean to knock them down, I swear. I kicked my
foot out and accidentally broke the shelf—and all this shit
started falling down, and I tried to catch it!” I frantically
explain as Karen rushes over to a pile of broken pottery.
Her hands sift through the rubble, trying to piece together a
blue flowerpot that has no chance of ever becoming one again.
She doesn’t say anything, but I hear her sniffle, and she lifts
her arm to wipe her cheeks with her dirt-covered hands.
After a few seconds, she says, “I’ve had this pot since I was
a little girl. It was the first pot I ever used for transplanting a
cutting.”
“I . . .” I don’t know what to say to her. Of all the shit I’ve
broken, this time it truly was an accident. I feel like complete
shit.
“This and my china were the only things of my
grandmother’s that I had left,” she cries.
The china. The china that I smashed into a million pieces.
“Karen, I’m sorry. I—”
“It’s okay, Hardin.” She sighs, tossing the pieces of the
flowerpot back into the pile of dirt.
But it’s not okay, I can see it in her brown eyes. I can see
how hurt she is, and I’m surprised by the heaviness of the guilt
I feel pressing on my chest at the sight of the sadness in her
eyes. She stares at the shattered pot for a few more seconds,
and I watch her silently. I try to imagine Karen as a young girl,
big brown eyes and a kind soul even at that point. I bet she
was one of those girls who was nice to everyone, even the
assholes like me. I think about her grandmother, probably nice
like her, giving her something that Karen felt was important
enough to keep safe all these years. I’ve never had anything in
my life that wasn’t destroyed.
“I’m going to finish dinner. It’ll be ready soon,” she says at
last.
Then, with a wipe of her eyes, she leaves the greenhouse
the same way her son left only minutes ago.
chapter seventy-one
TESSA
There’s no denying Smith and his adorable little way of
walking around, looking at things, greeting you with a formal
handshake, and then drilling you with questions as you try to
do chores. So when I’m putting away my clothes and he
waddles in and asks me in a quiet voice, “Where’s your
Hardin?” I can’t really be upset.
It makes me a bit sad to have to say that I left him back at
WCU, but the cuteness of this little kid eases some of that
pain.
“And where’s WCU?” he asks.
I do my best to smile. “It’s a long way away.”
Smith bats his beautiful green eyes. “Is he coming?”
“I don’t think so. Um, you like Hardin, don’t you, Smith?” I
laugh and push the sleeves of my old maroon dress over a
hanger and place it inside the closet.
“Sort of. He’s funny.”
“Hey, I’m funny, too!” I tease, but he only smiles a shy
smile.
“Not really,” he answers bluntly.
Which only makes me laugh harder. “Hardin thinks that I’m
funny,” I lie.
“He does?” Smith follows my actions and begins to help
me unpack and refold my clothes.
“Yes, he won’t admit it, though.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. Probably because I’m not very
funny, and when I try to be funny, it’s even worse.
“Well, tell your Hardin to come here and live, like you,” he
says very matter-of-factly. Like a little king issuing an edict.
My chest tightens at the sweet little boy’s words. “I’ll tell
him. You don’t have to fold those,” I tell him, reaching for a
blue shirt in his small hands.
“I like to fold.” He hides the shirt back behind him, and
what can I do but nod?
“You’ll make a good husband one day,” I tell him, and
smile. His dimples show when he smiles back. At least he
seems to like me a little more than he did before.
“I don’t want to be husband,” he says, scrunching up his
nose, and I roll my eyes at this five-year-old who speaks
exactly like a grown man.
“You’ll change your mind one day,” I tease.
“Nope.” And with that he ends the conversation, and we
finish with my clothes in silence.
My first day in Seattle is coming to a close, and tomorrow
will be my first day at the new office. I’m extremely nervous
and anxious about it. I don’t care for new things; in fact, they
terrify me. I like to be in control of every situation and enter
new environments with a solid plan. I haven’t had time to plan
much about this move, save enrolling into my new classes, and
honestly, I’m not looking forward to them as much as I should
be. Somewhere in the middle of my scolding myself, Smith
has disappeared, leaving a perfectly folded pile of clothing on
the bed.
I need to get out and see Seattle tomorrow after work. I
need to be reminded of what I loved so much about this city,
because right now, in this strange bedroom, hours away from
everything I’ve ever known, it just feels so . . . lonely.
chapter seventy-two
HARDIN
I watch Logan down the entire pint of beer, foamy head and
all. Put the glass on the table and wipe his mouth. “Steph’s a
psycho. No one knew she was going to do that to Tessa,” he
says. And then burps.
“Dan knew. And if I find out that anyone else did . . .” I
warn him.
He looks at me solemnly and nods. “No one else knew.
Well . . . not that I know of. But you know no one tells me shit
anyway.” A tall brunette appears at his side, and he slides his
arm around her. “Nate and Chelsea will be here soon,” he says
to her.
“A couples night,” I groan. “Time for me to go.” I move to
stand, but Logan stops me.
“It’s not a couples night. Tristan is single now, and Nate
isn’t dating Chelsea: they’re just fucking.”
I don’t know why I came here anyway, but Landon would
barely speak to me, and Karen looked so sad at dinner I just
couldn’t sit there at the table any longer.
“Let me guess: Zed will be here, too?”
Logan shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I think he was
even more pissed than you about the shit that went down,
because he hasn’t spoken to any of us since then.”
“No one is more pissed than me,” I say through my teeth.
Hanging out with my old friends isn’t helping me “better
myself.” It’s only making me annoyed. How dare anyone say
that Zed cares more about Tessa than I do.
Logan waves his hand in the air. “I didn’t mean it like
that . . . my bad. Have a beer and chill out.” He looks around
for the bartender.
I look over and see that Nate, she-who-must-be-Chelsea,
and Tristan are walking across the floor of the small bar
toward us.
“I don’t want a fucking beer,” I say quietly, trying to
control my attitude. Logan is only trying to help, but he’s
annoying me. Everyone is annoying me. Everything is
annoying me.
Tristan smacks me on the shoulder. “Long time no see,” he
tries to joke, but it’s only awkward, and neither of us even
cracks a smile. “I’m sorry about the shit that Steph did—I had
no idea what she was up to, honest,” he finally says, making it
even more awkward.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say forcefully, closing the
conversation.
While the small group of my friends drinks and talks about
shit that I give absolutely no fuck about, I find myself thinking
about Tessa. What is she doing right now? Does she like
Seattle? Does she feel as uncomfortable at Vance’s house as I
suspect she does? Are Christian and Kimberly being nice to
her?
Of course they are; Kimberly and Christian are always nice.
So really, I’m just avoiding the big question: Does Tessa miss
me the way I miss her?
“Are you going to have one?” Nate interrupts my thoughts
and waves a shot glass in front of my face.
“No, I’m good.” I gesture to my soda on the table, and he
shrugs before tipping his head back to take the shot.
This is the last thing I want to be doing right now. This
adolescent, drinking-until-they-throw-up-or-black-out shit may
be good enough for them, but it’s not for me. They haven’t had
the luxury of having someone’s voice nagging in the back of
their mind, telling them to be better, to do more with their
lives. They haven’t had anyone love them enough to make
them want to be better.
I want to be good for you, Tess, I once told her. What a
great job I’ve done so far.
“I’m going,” I announce, but no one even notices as I stand
from my seat and leave. I’ve made up my mind that I will no
longer waste my time hanging out at bars with people who
really don’t give a shit about me. I have nothing against most
of them, but in all actuality none of them really know me or
care enough to. They only liked the drunk, rowdy, fucking-
random-girls me. I was only another prop at one of their
massive parties. They don’t know shit about me—they didn’t
even know that my father is the fucking chancellor at our
college. I’m sure they don’t know what a chancellor does
either.
No one knows me the way she does, no one has ever even
cared to get to know me the way Tessa does. She always asks
the most intrusive and random questions: “What are you
thinking?” “Why do you like that show?” “What do you think
that man across the room is thinking right now?” “What is
your first memory?”
I always acted as if her need to know everything was
obnoxious, but really it made me feel . . . special . . . or like
someone cared about me enough to want to know the answers
to these ridiculous questions. I don’t know why my mind
won’t connect with itself; one half is telling me to get over
myself and take my pathetic ass to Seattle, knock down
Vance’s door, and promise to never let her leave again. It’s not
that easy, though. There’s a bigger, stronger, other part of me,
the half that always wins, telling me how fucked up I am. I’m
so fucked up, and all I do is ruin every fucking thing in my life
and everyone else’s, so I would be doing Tessa a favor by
leaving her alone. That’s the only side I can believe, especially
without her here to tell me that I’m wrong. Especially since
it’s always proven to be true in the past.
Landon’s plan for me to become a better person sounds
good on paper, but then what? I’m supposed to believe that I
can actually stay that way forever? I’m supposed to believe
that I’ll be good enough for her just because I decide not to
down a bottle of vodka when I got mad?
This would be so much easier if I wasn’t willing to admit
how much of a fuckup I am. I don’t know what I’m going to
do, but the question’s not going to be settled right now. For
tonight, I’m going to go inside my apartment and watch
Tessa’s favorite television shows—the worst shows, which are
full of ridiculous plot lines and horrible acting. I’ll probably
even pretend that she’s there explaining every scene to me,
even though I’m watching it right next to her, and I clearly
understand what is going on. I love when she does that. It’s
annoying, but I love how passionate she is about the smallest
details. Like who is wearing a red coat and harassing those
obnoxious pretty little lying girls.
As I step off of the elevator, I continue to plan my night. I’ll
end up watching that shit, then eating, take a shower, probably
get myself off while picturing Tessa’s mouth around me, and
I’ll do my best not to do anything stupid. Maybe I’ll clean up
the mess I made yesterday even.
I stop in front of my apartment door and look back down
the hall. Why the fuck is the door cracked open? Is Tessa back,
or did someone break in again? I’m not sure which answer
would make me angrier.
“Tessa?” I push the door open with my foot, and my
stomach drops to the floor at the sight of her father slumped
over, covered in blood.
“What the fuck?” I shout and slam the door closed.
“Watch out,” Richard groans, and my eyes follow his to the
hallway, where, over his shoulder, I catch sight of something
moving.
A man’s there, hovering over him. I square my shoulders
and am ready to charge if need be.
But then I realize it’s Richard’s friend . . . Chad, I think his
name is. “What the hell happened to him, and why the fuck are
you here?” I ask him.
“I was hoping to see the girl, but you’ll do,” he sneers.
My blood boils at the way this vile man refers to my Tessa.
“Get the fuck out and take him with you.” I gesture to the
piece of shit that brought this man to my apartment. His blood
is making a mess on my floor.
Chad rolls his shoulders and twists his head back and forth.
I can tell he’s trying to be calm but is feeling agitated. “The
problem with that is he owes me a lot of money, and he
doesn’t have a way to pay it,” he says, his dirty fingernails
scratching at the small red dots on his arms.
Fucking junkie.
I hold up a flat hand. “Not my fucking problem. I’m not
going to tell you again to leave, and I’m sure as hell not giving
you any money.”
But Chad only smirks. “You don’t know who you’re talking
to, kid!” He kicks Richard just below his rib cage. A pathetic
whine falls from Richard’s lips as he slides down onto the
floor and doesn’t get up.
I am not in the mood to deal with fucking drug addicts
breaking into my apartment. “I don’t give a fuck about you, or
him. You’re sadly mistaken if you think I’m afraid of you,” I
growl.
What the fuck else could possibly happen this week?
No, wait. I don’t want to know the answer to that.
I step toward Chad, and he backs away, just like I knew he
would. “Maybe to be nice, I will say it once more: get out or
I’ll call the cops. And while we wait for them to show up and
save you, I’ll be beating the shit out of you with the baseball
bat I keep handy in case some dumb fuck tries to pull shit like
this.” I move toward the hall closet and grab the weapon from
where it leans against the wall, lifting it slowly to prove my
point.
“If I leave without the money he owes me, whatever I do to
him is on you. His blood will be on your hands.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you do to him,” I say. But then
I’m suddenly unsure of whether I actually mean that.
“Sure,” he says and looks around the living room.
“How fucking much money?” I say.
“Five hundred.”
“I’m not giving you five hundred dollars.” I know how
Tessa will feel when she learns that my suspicions about her
father being an addict are true, and this makes me want to
throw the wallet in Chad’s face and give him everything I have
just to get rid of him. I hate knowing that I was right about her
father; at this point she only half believes me, but soon she’s
going to have to realize the whole truth. I just wish this all
would go away, Dick included. “I don’t have that kind of cash
on me.”
“Two hundred?” he asks. I can practically see his addiction
begging me through his eyes.
“Fine.” I can’t believe I’m actually giving money to this
junkie who has broken into my apartment and beaten Tessa’s
dad to a pulp. I don’t even have two hundred in cash. What am
I supposed to do—take the creep with me to the ATM? This is
such fucking bullshit.
Who the fuck comes home to this shit?
Me. That’s fucking who.
For her. Only for her.
I pull my wallet from my pocket and toss the eighty dollars
I just pulled from the bank at him and walk into the bedroom,
bat still in hand. I grab the watch my father and Karen bought
me for Christmas and throw it at him. For such a skeletal
wreck of a human, Chad snatches it out of the air pretty deftly.
He must really want it . . . or what he can trade it for.
“That watch is worth more than five hundred. Now get the
fuck out,” I say. But I don’t want him to leave, really, I want
him to try to come at me so I can bust his head open.
Chad laughs, then coughs, then laughs again. “Until next
time, Rick,” he threatens and walks out the door.
I follow him and point the bat at him, saying, “And, Chad?
If I see you again, I will kill you.”
Then I slam the door on his ugly face.
chapter seventy-three
HARDIN
I nudge Richard’s thigh with my boot. I’m beyond mad, and
this whole mess is his damn fault.
“I’m sorry,” he groans, attempting to lift himself up from
the floor; within seconds he winces and slides back onto the
hardwood. The last thing I want to do is lift his pathetic ass up
off of the floor, but at this point I’m not sure what else to do
with him.
“I’ll put you in the chair, but you aren’t sitting on my
couch, not until you take a shower.”
“Okay,” he mutters and closes his eyes as I bend down to
lift him. He’s not as heavy as I expected him to be, especially
for his height.
I drag him over to a kitchen chair, and as soon as I sit him
down, he bends over, wrapping his arms around his torso.
“What now? What am I supposed to do with you now?” I
ask him quietly.
What would Tessa do if she was here? Knowing her, she’d
run him a hot bath and make him something to eat. I’m not
doing either of those things.
“Take me back,” he suggests. His shaky fingers lift the
neckline of his torn T-shirt, something of mine that Tessa let
him keep. Has he been wearing it since he left here? He wipes
the blood from his mouth, lazily smearing it down his chin and
into the mess of thick hair there.
“Back where?” I say. Maybe I should’ve called the police
when I first entered the apartment, maybe I shouldn’t have
given Chad that watch . . . I wasn’t thinking properly at the
time, all I could think about was keeping Tessa out of this.
But of course she’s completely out of it already . . . she’s so
far away.
“Why did you bring him here? If Tessa had been here . . .”
My voice trails off.
“She moved out. I knew she wouldn’t be here,” he strains
to say.
I know it’s hard for him to speak, but I need answers and
my patience is running thin. “Did you come here a few days
ago, too?”
“I did. I only came to eat and sh-shower,” Richard pants.
“You came all the way here just to eat and shower?”
“Yeah, I took the bus the first time. But Chad”—he takes a
breath and howls in pain before shifting his weight—“he
offered to bring me here, but then he turned on me as soon as
we got inside.”
“How the fuck did you get in?”
“I took Tessie’s spare key.”
He took it . . . or she gave it to him? I wonder.
He nods toward the sink. “From the drawer.”
“So let me get this straight, you stole a key to my apartment
and thought you could just come here whenever the hell you
wanted to take a shower. Then you bring Chad the Charming
Junkie to my house, and he beats your ass in my living room
because you owe him money?” How did I end up in the
middle of an episode of Intervention?
“No one was home. I didn’t think it mattered.”
“You didn’t think—that’s the problem! What if Tessa had
been the one to come here? Do you even care how she’d feel if
she saw you like this?” I’m completely out of my element
here. My first instinct is to drag this old fool out of our—out
of my apartment and leave him bleeding in the hallway. I can’t
do that, though, because I happen to be desperately in love
with his daughter, and by doing it, all I’d accomplish would be
to hurt her even more than I already have. Isn’t love just
fucking awesome?
“Well, what should we do now?” I scratch ay my chin.
“Should I take you to a hospital?”
“I don’t need a hospital, just a bandage or two. Can you call
Tessie for me and tell her I’m sorry?”
I dismiss his suggestion with a sweep of the arm. “No, I
will not. She isn’t going to know about this. I don’t want her
worrying about this shit.”
“Okay,” he agrees and shifts on the chair again.
“How long have you been using?” I ask him.
He swallows. “I don’t,” he says meekly.
“Don’t lie to me, I’m not a fucking idiot. Just tell me.”
He looks deep in thought, distracted. “About a year, but
I’ve been trying so hard to stop since the day I ran into
Tessie.”
“She’s going to be heartbroken—you know that, don’t
you?” I hope he does. And I certainly have no problem
reminding him multiple times if he ever happens to forget.
“I know, I’m going to get better for her,” he claims.
Aren’t we all . . .
“Well, you may want to hurry your rehabilitation along,
because if she saw you now . . .” I don’t finish the sentence.
I’m debating whether or not to call her and ask her what the
hell I’m supposed to do with her dad, but I know that’s not the
answer. She doesn’t need to be bothered with this, not right
now. Not while she’s trying to turn her dreams into reality.
“I’m going to my room. Feel free to take a shower, eat, or
whatever you were planning on doing before I came home and
interrupted you.” I saunter out of the kitchen and into the
bedroom. I close the door behind me and lean against it. This
has been the longest twenty-four hours of my life.
chapter seventy-four
TESSA
I can’t keep the ridiculous grin off of my face as Kimberly and
Christian show me my new office. The walls are a clean white,
the trim and door are dark gray, and the desk and bookcases
are black, sleek, and modern. The size of the room is the same
as my first office, but the view here is incredible; breathtaking,
really. The new Vance Publishing office is located in the center
of downtown Seattle; the city below is thriving, constantly
moving, constantly developing, and here I am, right in the
center of it all.
“This is amazing—thank you so much!” I say, with
probably more enthusiasm than most people would consider to
be professional.
“Everything you need is within walking distance—coffee,
any cuisine you could possibly crave, it’s all here.” Christian
proudly stares down at the city and wraps his arm around his
fiancée’s waist.
“Stop bragging, would you?” Kimberly teases, and he
plants a soft kiss to her forehead.
“Well, we’ll leave you be. Now, get to work,” Christian
playfully scolds me. Kimberly grabs him by his tie and
practically drags him out of the office.
I arrange the things in my desk the way I like them and read
a little, but by lunchtime I’ve sent at least ten pictures of my
office to Landon . . . and to Hardin. I knew that Hardin
wouldn’t respond, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted him to
see the view—maybe it would make him change his mind
about moving here? I’m only making excuses for my
momentary lapse in judgment in sending him the pictures. But
I miss him—there, I said it. I miss him terribly, and I was
hoping for a response from him, even a simple text.
Something. But nothing came.
Landon sent an excited response to each of the pictures,
even when I sent a cheesy one of me holding a coffee mug
with VANCE PUBLISHING printed on the side.
The more I dwell on my impulsive decision to send those
pictures to Hardin, the more I regret it. What if he takes them
the wrong way? He does have a tendency to do that. He may
see them as a reminder of the fact that I’m moving on; he may
even think that I’m trying to rub this whole thing in his face.
That truly wasn’t my intention, and I can only hope that he
doesn’t take it that way.
Maybe I should send another message to explain myself, I
think. Or tell him that I sent the pictures accidentally. I don’t
know which would be more believable.
Neither, I’m sure. I’m overthinking this; after all, they’re
only pictures. And I can’t be fully responsible for how he
chooses to interpret them. I can’t be fully responsible for his
emotions like that.
When I walk into the break room on my floor, I find Trevor
sitting at one of the square tables with a tablet in front of him.
“Welcome to Seattle,” he says, his blue eyes beaming
bright.
“Hey.” I return his enthusiasm with a smile and swipe my
debit card through the slot on the massive vending machine. I
press a few small numbered buttons and am rewarded with a
sleeve of peanut butter crackers. I’m too nervous to be hungry,
and I’ll go out for lunch tomorrow after I’ve had a chance to
explore the area.
“How do you like Seattle so far?” Trevor asks.
I look to him for permission, and when he nods, I slide into
the chair across from him. “I haven’t seen much yet. I only
arrived yesterday, but I love this new building.”
Two women enter the room and smile at Trevor; one of
them turns to smile at me, and I give her a small wave. They
begin to talk with each other, and then the shorter woman, who
has black hair, pulls open the refrigerator and takes out a
microwavable meal while her friend picks at her fingernails.
“You should explore, then; there are so many things to do
here. It’s a beautiful city,” Trevor declares as I munch
absentmindedly on a cracker. “The Space Needle, the Pacific
Science Center, art museums, you name it.”
“I do want to see the Space Needle, and Pike Place
Market,” I say. But I’m beginning to feel uneasy, because
every time I glance over at the women, I can tell that they’re
both looking at me and talking quietly.
I’m quite paranoid today.
“You should. Have you decided where you’re staying yet?”
he asks, swiping his index finger across the screen to close the
window on his tablet, giving me his full attention.
“I’m actually at Kimberly and Christian’s house for right
now . . . only for a week or two until I can find my own
place.” The urgency in my voice is embarrassing. I hate that I
have to stay with them, because Hardin ruined my chance to
rent the only apartment I could find. I want to live on my own
and not worry about being a burden to anyone.
“I could ask around and see if there are any vacancies in my
building,” Trevor offers. He adjusts his tie and smoothes the
silver fabric down before running his hands over the lapels of
his suit.
“Thanks, but I’m not sure your building would be in my
price range,” I softly remind him. He’s the head of finance,
and I’m an intern—a decently paid intern, but I’m sure that I
can’t even afford to rent the Dumpster behind his building.
He flushes. “Okay,” he says, realizing the massive
difference between our incomes. “I can still ask around and
see if anyone knows of any places.”
“Thank you.” I smile a convincing smile. “I’m sure Seattle
will feel more like home once I actually have a home.”
“I agree; it’s going to take some time, but I know you’ll
love it here.” His crooked grin is warm and welcoming.
“Do you have any plans after work?” I ask before I can stop
myself.
“I do,” he says, his soft voice fumbling. “But I can cancel
them.”
“No, no. It’s fine, I was just thinking that since you know
the city, you could show me around, but if you already have
plans, don’t worry about it.” I hope that I can make some
friends here in Seattle.
“I’d love to show you around. I was just going jogging,
that’s all.”
“Jogging?” My nose crinkles. “What for?”
“For fun.”
“That doesn’t sound like much fun.” I laugh, and he shakes
his head in amused displeasure.
“I usually go every day after work. I’m still getting to know
the city, too, and it’s a good way to learn the layout. You
should come along one day.”
“I don’t know . . .” The idea doesn’t sound appealing.
“We could walk instead.” He chuckles. “I live in Ballard;
it’s a pretty cool neighborhood.”
“I’ve heard of Ballard, actually,” I say, remembering
browsing through page after page on sites showing the
neighborhoods of Seattle. “Okay, yeah. Let’s walk around
Ballard, then.” I close my hands in front of me and rest them
on my lap.
I can’t help but think how Hardin would feel about this. He
despises Trevor, and he’s already having a hard enough time
with our “space” arrangement. Not that he’s said this, but I’d
like to think that he is. Regardless of how much space is put
between Hardin and me, literal or metaphorical, I only see
Trevor as a friend. The last thing on my mind is being
romantic with someone, especially anyone other than Hardin.
“Okay, then.” He smiles, clearly surprised that I’ve agreed
to come along. “My lunch hour is over, so I have to get back to
my office, but I’ll text you my address, or we can go straight
from work if you want.”
“Let’s just go straight from here—I’m wearing reasonable
shoes.” I point down to my flats, mentally patting myself on
the back for not wearing heels today.
“Sounds good. I’ll meet you at your office at five?” he says
and stands up.
“Yes, that’s fine.” I get up, too, and toss the crackers
wrapper into the trash can.
“We all know why she got the job anyway,” I hear one of
the women say behind me.
When, out of curiosity, I look over to where they’re sitting,
they both quickly get quiet and stare down at the table. I can’t
help but feel that they were talking about me.
So much for making friends in Seattle.
“All those two do is gossip, ignore them,” Trevor says,
placing his hand between my shoulder blades and guiding me
out of the break room.
When I get back to my office, I reach into my desk drawer
and pull out my cell phone. Two missed calls, both from
Hardin.
Should I call him back right now? He called twice, so
maybe something is wrong. I should, I think, by way of
bargaining with myself.
He answers on the first ring, and hurriedly says, “Why
didn’t you answer when I called you?”
“Is something wrong?” I stand up from my chair in a slight
panic.
“No. Nothing’s wrong,” he breathes. I can picture the exact
way his pink lips move as he says the simple words “Why did
you send those pictures?”
I look around my office, worried about upsetting him. “I
was just excited about my office, and I wanted you to see it. I
hope you didn’t think I was trying to be mean about it and
brag. I’m sorry for—”
“No, I was just confused,” he coolly interjects, then goes
silent.
After a few seconds, I say, “I won’t send any more, I
shouldn’t even have sent those.” I lean my forehead against
the office window and stare down at the streets of the city.
“Don’t worry, it’s fine . . . how is it there? Do you like the
place?” Hardin’s voice is somber, and I want to smooth away
the frown that I know is marring his face right now.
“It’s lovely here.”
He calls me out, I knew he would: “You didn’t answer the
question.”
“I like it here,” I say softly.
“You sound absolutely ecstatic.”
“I really do like it, I’m just . . . adjusting. That’s all. What’s
happening back there?” I ask in order to keep the conversation
going. I’m not ready to get off the phone with him just yet.
“Nothing,” he quickly responds.
“Is this awkward for you? I know you said you didn’t want
to talk on the phone, but you called me, so I was just—”
“No, it’s not awkward,” he interrupts. “It’s never awkward
with us, and I only meant I don’t think we should talk for
hours every day if we aren’t going to be together, because that
doesn’t make any sense and it’s only going to torture me.”
“So you do want to talk to me, then?” I ask because I’m
pathetic and I need to hear him say the words.
“Yes, of course I do.”
A car horn honks in the background, and I think he must be
driving. “So what, then? We’re going to chat on the phone,
like friends?” he asks, no anger in his voice at all, only
curiosity.
“I don’t know, maybe we could try that?” This separation
feels so different from the last; this time we separated on good
terms, and it wasn’t a clean break. I’m not ready to decide if a
clean break from Hardin is what I actually need, so I push the
thought back, file it away, and promise to visit it later.
“It won’t work.”
“I don’t want us to ignore one another and not speak again,
but I haven’t changed my mind about the space thing,” I tell
him.
“Fine, tell me about Seattle, then,” he finally says into the
receiver.
chapter seventy-five
TESSA
After I spend half an afternoon on the phone with Hardin and
getting close to no actual work done, my first day at the new
office is over, and I wait patiently for Trevor just outside my
door.
Hardin was so calm earlier, and he sounded so clear, as if
he was focused on something. Standing here in the corridor, I
can’t contain my happiness that we’re still communicating; it’s
so much better now that we’re no longer avoiding each other.
Deep down, I know that it won’t continue to be this easy,
talking this way, teasing myself with small doses of Hardin
when in reality I want him, all of him, all the time. I want him
here with me, holding me, kissing me, making me laugh.
This must be what denial feels like.
I’m fine with that for now. It feels pretty good, compared to
my other option: sadness.
I sigh and rest my head against the wall as I continue to
wait. I’m beginning to wish that I hadn’t asked Trevor if he
was free after work. I’d rather be at Kimberly’s house, talking
on the phone to Hardin. I wish he had just come here; he could
be the one meeting me instead. He could have an office close
to mine; he could come by my office multiple times a day, and
in between those times, I could make excuses to go to his. I’m
sure Christian would give Hardin a job if he wanted one. He’s
made it clear that he wanted Hardin to work for him again a
couple of times.
We could spend our lunch hour together, maybe even re-
create some of the memories we shared at the old office. I
begin picturing Hardin behind me, me bent down over the top
of my desk, my hair wrapped tightly around his fist—
“Sorry I’m a little late, my meeting ran over.” Trevor
interrupts my reverie, and I jump in both surprise and
embarrassment.
“Oh, um, it’s okay. I was just”—I tuck my hair behind my
ear and swallow—“waiting.”
If only he knew what I was thinking; thank goodness he
doesn’t have a clue. I’m not sure where those thoughts even
came from.
He inclines his head the other way, peering down the empty
hallway. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.”
We make small talk as we walk through the building.
Nearly everyone has left for the day, leaving the office quiet.
Trevor tells me about his brother’s new job in Ohio and how
he went shopping for a new suit to wear to our coworker
Krystal’s wedding next month. Idly, I wonder just how many
suits Trevor owns.
Once we get to our cars, I follow Trevor’s BMW as he
drives through the crowded city, and we finally arrive in the
small neighborhood of Ballard. According to the blogs I was
reading before my move, it’s one of the hippest neighborhoods
in Seattle. Coffee shops, vegan restaurants, and hipster bars
line the narrow streets. I pull my car into the parking garage
beneath Trevor’s building and laugh to myself while
remembering that he offered to help me find an apartment in
this pricey place.
Trevor smiles, gesturing to his suit. “I just need to change,
obviously.”
Once we get to his apartment and he wanders off, I nosily
glance around his expansive living room. Pictures of family
and articles clipped from newspapers and magazines fill the
frames on his mantel; an intricate display piece made from
melted and molded wine bottles takes up the entire coffee
table. Not a trace of dust has been allowed to collect in any of
the corners. I’m impressed.
“Ready!” Trevor announces, stepping out of his bedroom
and zipping up a red sweatshirt. It always catches me off guard
to see him dressed so casually—it’s such a vast difference
from how he looks normally.
After walking two blocks from his building, both of us are
shivering and shaking.
“Are you hungry, Tessa? We can grab something to eat.”
White puffs of cold air follow his words.
I nod eagerly. My stomach growls in hunger, reminding me
of just how insufficient a package of peanut butter crackers is
for lunch.
I tell Trevor to choose a restaurant he likes, and we end up
at a small Italian grill only feet away from where we were just
walking. The sweet smell of garlic fills my senses, and my
mouth waters as we’re escorted to a small booth in the back.
chapter seventy-six
HARDIN
You look much more . . . hygienic now,” I tell Richard as he
steps out of the bathroom wiping his freshly shaven face with
a white towel.
“I haven’t shaved my face in months,” he responds, rubbing
the smooth skin on his chin.
“You don’t say.” I roll my eyes, and he grants me half a
smile.
“Thanks again for letting me stay here . . .” His deep voice
trails off.
“It’s not permanent, so don’t thank me. I’m still not cool
with this whole situation.” I take another bite of the pizza I
ordered for myself . . . and ended up sharing with Richard. I
need to find a way to take some of the pressure off of Tessa.
She has too much going on lately, and if I can help her in any
way by handling this mess with her father, I will.
“I know it. I’m surprised you haven’t thrown me out yet,”
he says with a laugh. As if that’s something to make a joke
about. I stare at him. His eyes look too large for his face, with
dark rings showing through his white skin.
I sigh. “So am I,” I admit with annoyance.
Richard quivers while I stare at him—not from
intimidation, but from a lack of whatever the hell drug it is that
he’s used to taking.
I want to know if he brought any drugs into our apartment
while he was staying here just last week. However, if I ask him
and he says yes, I’ll lose my temper and he’ll be out of my
apartment within seconds. For Tessa’s sake, and for mine, I
rise to my feet and leave the living room with my empty plate
in hand. The stack of dirty dishes in the sink has managed to
double in size, and loading the dishwasher is the last thing I
want to do at the moment.
“Do the dishes as payment!” I call to Richard.
I hear his deep laughter from the hallway, and he walks into
the kitchen just as I reach the bedroom door and close it.
I want to call Tessa again, just to hear her voice. I want to
know about the rest of her day . . . What does she plan to do
after work? Did she stare at her phone with a stupid-ass grin
on her face after we hung up earlier, like I did?
Probably not.
I now know that all my past sins are finally catching up to
me—that’s why Tessa was given to me. A merciless
punishment disguised as a beautiful reward. Having her for
months just to have her taken from me, yet still dangling in
front of my face by means of casual phone calls. I don’t know
how much longer it will be until I succumb to my fate and
finally allow myself to break out of this denial.
Denial, that’s exactly what this is.
It doesn’t have to be, though. I can change the outcome of
all this. I can be who she needs me to be without dragging her
down to my hell again.
Fuck this, I’m calling her.
Her phone rings and rings, yet she doesn’t pick up. It’s
almost six—she should be done with work and back at her
place. Where the hell else would she go? While debating
whether or not to call Christian, I push my feet into my gym
shoes, lazily tie them, and shove my arms through my jacket.
I know she’ll be upset—beyond mad, surely—if I call him,
but I’ve already called her six times, and she hasn’t answered
once. I groan and run my fingers over my unwashed hair. This
giving-each-other-space shit is really fucking irritating me.
“I’m going out,” I tell my unwanted houseguest. He nods,
unable to speak due to the handful of potato chips that he’s
shoveling into his mouth. At least the sink is free of dishes
now.
Where the fuck am I even supposed to go?
Within minutes, my car is parked in the lot behind the small
gym. I don’t know what being here will accomplish or if this
shit will help me, but right now I’m growing more and more
irritated at Tessa, and all I can think about doing is cussing her
out or driving to Seattle to find her. I don’t need to do either of
those things . . . they’d only make things worse.
chapter seventy-seven
TESSA
By the time my plate is clear, I’m practically twitching in my
seat. The moment we ordered our meals I realized that I left
my phone in my car, and it’s driving me more insane than it
should. No one really calls me much. However, I can’t help
but think that maybe Hardin has, or at least sent me a text
message. I’m trying my best to listen to Trevor while he talks
about an article in the Times he read, trying not to think of
Hardin and the possibility that he may have called, but I can’t
help it. I’m distracted during the entire dinner and am positive
that Trevor notices; he’s just too kind to call me out on it.
“Don’t you agree?” Trevor’s voice pulls me from my
thoughts.
I scramble through the last few seconds of conversation,
trying to remember what he could be talking about. The article
was about health care . . . I think.
“Yeah, I do,” I lie. I have no clue if I agree or not, but I do
wish the server would hurry and bring our check.
As if on cue, the young man places a small booklet on our
table, and Trevor hastily pulls out his wallet.
“I can . . .” I begin.
But he slides several bills inside, and the server disappears
back into the restaurant kitchen. “It’s on me.”
I quietly thank him and glance at the large stone clock
hanging just above the door. It’s past seven; we’ve been in the
restaurant for over an hour. I let out a breath of relief when
Trevor says, “Well,” claps his hands, and stands.
On the way back to his place, we pass a small coffee shop,
and Trevor raises his brow, a silent invitation.
“Maybe another night this week?” I offer with a smile.
“Sounds like a plan.” The corner of his mouth rises into his
famous half smile, and we continue the trek to his building.
With a quick goodbye and a friendly hug, I climb into my
car and immediately reach for my phone. I’m frazzled with
anxiety and desperation, but I shove those feelings back into
the darkness. Nine missed calls, every single one from Hardin.
I call him back immediately, only to get his voicemail. The
drive from Trevor’s apartment to Kimberly’s house is long and
tedious. The traffic in Seattle is terrible, bumper-to-bumper
and noisy. Honking horns, small cars whipping from lane to
lane—it’s pretty overwhelming, and by the time I pull into the
driveway, I have a massive headache.
When I step through the front door, I see Kimberly seated
on the white leather couch, a glass of wine in her hand. “How
was your day?” she asks and leans over to place her drink onto
the glass table in front of her.
“Good. But the traffic in this city is unreal,” I groan and
plop down on the crimson chair next to the window. “My head
is killing me.”
“Yeah, it is. Have some wine for your headache.” She
stands up and walks across the living room.
Before I can protest, she pours the bubbling white wine into
a long-stemmed glass and brings it to me. Taking a little sip, I
find it’s cool and crisp, sweet on my tongue.
“Thank you,” I say with a smile and take bigger sip.
“So . . . you were with Trevor, right?” Kimberly is so
nosy . . . in the sweetest way.
“Yes, we had a friendly dinner. As friends,” I say
innocently.
“Maybe you could try answering again and use the word
‘friend’ a few more times,” she teases, and I can’t help but
laugh.
“I’m just trying to make it clear that we’re only . . . uh . . .
friends.”
Her brown eyes shine with curiosity. “Does Hardin know
you were being friends with Trevor?”
“No, but I plan on telling him as soon as I speak to him. He
doesn’t care for Trevor, for some reason.”
She nods. “I can’t blame him. Trevor could be a model, if
he wasn’t so shy. Have you seen those blue eyes of his?” She
exaggerates her words by fanning her face with her free hand,
and we both giggle like schoolgirls.
“Don’t you mean green eyes, love?” Christian says as he
suddenly appears in the foyer, causing me to nearly drop my
glass of wine onto the hardwood floor.
Kim smiles at him. “Of course I do.”
But he just shakes his head and gives us both a sly smile. “I
suppose I could be a model as well,” he comments with a
wink. For my part, I’m relieved that he isn’t upset. Hardin
would have flipped the table over if he caught me speaking
about Trevor the way Kimberly was.
Christian sits down on the couch next to Kimberly, and she
climbs into his lap. “And how’s Hardin doing? You’ve spoken
to him, I assume?” he asks.
I look away. “Yes, a little. He’s good.”
“Stubborn, he is. I’m still offended that he hasn’t taken me
up on my offer, given his situation.”
Christian smiles into Kim’s neck and kisses her softly just
beneath her ear. These two clearly have no issue with public
displays of affection. I try to look away again, but I can’t.
Wait . . .
“What offer?” I ask, my surprise obvious.
“Why, the job I offered him—I told you about it, didn’t I? I
wish he’d come out here. I mean, he only has, what, one
semester left, and he’ll be graduating early, no?”
What? Why didn’t I know about this? This is the first I’ve
heard about Hardin graduating early. But I respond, “Erm,
yeah . . . I believe so.”
Christian wraps his arms around Kimberly and rocks her a
little. “He’s practically a genius, that boy. If he had applied
himself a little more, his GPA would be a perfect four.”
“He really is very smart . . .” I agree. And it’s true. Hardin’s
mind never ceases to surprise and intrigue me. It’s one of the
things that I love most about him.
“Quite the writer, too,” he says and steals a sip of
Kimberly’s wine. “I don’t know why he decided to stop. I was
looking forward to reading more of his work.” Christian sighs
while Kimberly undoes the silver tie around his neck.
I’m overwhelmed by this information. Hardin . . . writing? I
remember him briefly mentioning that he used to dabble a
little in it during his freshman year of college, but he never
went into detail. Every time I brought it up in conversation,
he’d change the subject or pooh-pooh the idea, giving me the
impression that it wasn’t very important to him.
“Yeah.” I finish off my wine and stand, pointing to the
bottle. “May I?”
Kimberly nods. “Of course, have as much as you please.
We have an entire cellarful,” she says with a sweet smile.
Three glasses of white wine later, my headache has
evaporated and my curiosity has grown geometrically. I wait
for Christian to bring up Hardin’s writing or the job offer
again, but he doesn’t. He dives into a full-blown business
discussion about how he has been in talks with a media group
to expand Vance Publishing’s in-house film and television
efforts. As interesting as it is, I want to get to my room and try
to call Hardin again. When an appropriate opening presents
itself, I wish them a both a good night and excuse myself to
rush off to my temporary bedroom.
“Take the bottle with you!” Kimberly calls to me just as I
pass the table where the half-full wine bottle rests.
I nod, thanking her, and do just that.
chapter seventy-eight
HARDIN
I walk into the apartment, my legs still sore from kicking the
hell out of that bag at the gym. Grabbing a water bottle from
the fridge, I try to ignore the sleeping man on my couch. It’s
for her, I remind myself. All for her. I gulp down half of the
bottle, dig my phone out of my gym bag, and turn on the
power. Just as I try to call her, her name pops up on my screen.
“Hello?” I answer as I pull my sweat-soaked T-shirt over
my head and toss it to the floor.
“Hi” is all she says.
Her response is short. Too short. I want to talk to her. I need
her to want to talk to me.
I kick at my shirt, then pick it up, knowing that if she could
see me, she’d scowl at me for being such a slob. “What are
you up to?”
“I went out exploring the city,” she answers calmly. “I tried
to call you back, but it went to your voicemail.” The sound of
her voice soothes my temper.
“I went back to that gym.” I lie back on the bed, wishing
she were here with me, her head on my chest, instead of in
Seattle.
“You did? That’s great!” she says, then adds, “I’m taking
my shoes off.”
“Okay . . .”
She giggles. “I don’t know why I told you that.”
“Are you drunk?” I sit up, using one elbow to hold my
weight.
“I’ve had some wine,” she admits. I should have caught that
immediately.
“With who?”
“Kimberly, and Mr. Vance . . . Christian, I mean.”
“Oh.” I don’t know how I feel about her going out drinking
in a foreign city, but I know it’s not the time to bring that up.
“He says you’re an amazing writer,” she says, accusation
clear in her voice. Fuck.
“Why would he say that?” I reply. My heart pounds.
“I don’t know. Why won’t you write anymore?” Her voice
is full of wine and curiosity.
“I don’t know. But I don’t want to talk about me. I want to
talk about you and Seattle and why you’ve been avoiding me.”
“Well, he also said you’re graduating next semester,” she
says, ignoring my words.
Christian obviously has no idea how to mind his own
damned business. “Yeah, so?”
“I didn’t know that,” Tessa says. I hear her shuffling
around, and she groans, clearly irritated.
“I wasn’t hiding it from you, it just didn’t come up. You
have a long time before you graduate, so it doesn’t matter
anyway. It’s not like I was going to go anywhere.”
“Hang on,” she says into the phone. What the hell is she
doing? How much wine has she drunk?
After listening to her mumble incomprehensibly and futz
around, I finally ask, “What are you doing?”
“What? Oh, my hair was caught in my shirt buttons. Sorry,
I was listening, I promise.”
“Why were you grilling your boss about me, anyway?”
“He brought you up. You know, since he offered you a job a
couple of times and you refused, you were a topic,” she says
with emphasis.
“Old news.” I don’t exactly remember mentioning the offer,
but I wasn’t purposely keeping it from her. “My intentions
concerning Seattle have always been clear.”
“You can say that again,” she says, and I can practically see
her rolling her eyes . . . again.
I change the subject. “You didn’t answer when I called you.
I called so many times.”
“I know, I left my phone in the car at Trevor’s . . .” She
stops midsentence.
I stand from the bed and pace across the room. I fucking
knew it.
“He was only showing me around as friends, that’s it.”
She’s quick to defend herself.
“You didn’t answer my calls because you were with fucking
Trevor?” I growl, my pulse quickening with each beat of the
silence that meets my question.
Then she snaps: “Don’t you fight with me over Trevor, he’s
only a friend, and you’re the one who isn’t here. You don’t
choose my friends, do you understand?”
“Tessa . . .” I warn.
“Hardin Allen Scott!” she exclaims, and bursts into
laughter.
“Why are you laughing?” I ask, but I can’t help the smile
that takes over my face. Fuck, I’m pathetic.
“I . . . don’t know!”
The sound of her laughter resonates through my ears and
travels straight down to my heart, warming my chest.
“You should put the wine down,” I tease, wishing I could
see her roll her eyes in response to my scolding her.
“Make me,” she challenges, her voice thick and playful.
“If I was there, I would—you can be damned sure of that.”
“What else would you do if you were here?” she asks me.
I drop back onto my bed. Is she taking this where I think
she is? I never know with her, especially when she’s been
drinking.
“Theresa Lynn Young—are you trying to have phone sex
with me?” I taunt her.
Immediately she coughs violently—choking on a gulp of
wine, I assume. “What! No! I . . . I was just asking!” she
squeals.
“Sure, you can deny it now,” I joke, laughing at her
horrified tone.
“Unless . . . is that something you want to do?” she
whispers.
“You’re serious?” The thought alone makes my cock
twitch.
“Maybe . . . I don’t know. Are you mad about Trevor?” The
tone of her voice is much more intoxicating to me than any
amount of wine I could consume.
Hell yes I’m irritated that she was with him, but that’s not
what I want to discuss right now. I hear her gulp loudly,
followed by the soft clink of a glass. “I don’t give a shit about
fucking Trevor right now,” I lie. Then I command, “Don’t
chug the wine.” I know her too well. “You’ll get sick.”
I hear a couple of loud gulps come through the phone. “You
can’t boss me around long distance.” She’s chugging the wine
again, to build up her nerve, I’m sure.
“I can boss you around from any distance, baby.” I grin,
running my fingers over my lips.
“Can I tell you something?” she asks quietly.
“Please do.”
“I was thinking about you today, and when you came to my
office that first time . . .”
“You were thinking about me fucking you when you were
with him?” I ask her, praying she says yes.
“At the time, I was waiting for him.”
“Tell me more about it, tell me what you were thinking,” I
press.
This is so fucking confusing. Every time I’m talking to her
I feel as if we aren’t “taking a break,” that everything is the
same as it’s always been. The only difference at the moment is
that I can’t physically see her, or touch her. Fuck, I want to
touch her, run my tongue across her smooth skin . . .
“I was thinking about how . . .” she starts, but then takes
another drink.
“Don’t be embarrassed.” I coax her to continue.
“That I liked it, and it made me want to do it again.”
“With who?” I ask, just to hear her say it.
“You, only you.”
“Good,” I say with a smooth grin. “You’re still mine, even
though you’re making me give you space; you’re still only for
me—you know that, don’t you?” I ask her in the most gentle
way I possibly can.
“I know,” she says. My chest swells, and I welcome the
flood of relief that comes along with her words. “Are you
mine?” she asks in a voice filled with much more confidence
than it had moments ago.
“Yes, always.”
I don’t have a choice. I haven’t since the day I met you, I
want to add, but I stay quiet, nervously awaiting her response.
“Good,” Tessa says with authority. “Now, tell me what you
would do if you were here, and don’t leave out any details.”
chapter seventy-nine
TESSA
My thoughts are slightly hazy, and my head feels full and
heavy, but in the best way. I’m grinning from ear to ear,
intoxicated from the wine and Hardin’s thick voice. I love this
playful side of Hardin, and if he wants to play, I’ll play.
“Oh no,” he says with that cool tone of his. “You tell me
what you’d want me to do first.”
I take a pull straight from the bottle. “I already did,” I say.
“Chug some more wine; you only seem to tell me what you
want when you’ve been drinking.”
“Fine.” I run my index finger along the cool wooden bed
frame. “I want you to bend me over this bed here . . . and take
me the way you did on that desk.” Instead of embarrassment, I
only feel the warm flush of heat trailing up my neck to my
cheeks.
Hardin curses under his breath; I know that he didn’t
actually expect me to answer more graphically. “Then?” he
asks quietly.
“Well . . .” I start, pausing to take another long swig to gain
confidence. Hardin and I have never done this before. He’s
sent me a few racy text messages, but this . . . this is different.
“Just say it, don’t be shy now.”
“You would hold me by the hips, the way you always do,
and I’d cling to the sheets to try and keep myself stable. Your
fingers would dig into me, leaving marks in their wake . . .” I
clench my thighs together when I hear his breathing hitch
through the line.
“Touch yourself,” he says, and I quickly look around the
room, momentarily forgetting that no one can hear our private
conversation.
“What? No,” I harshly whisper, cupping the phone.
“Yes.”
“I’m not doing that . . . here. They’ll hear me.” If I were
talking to anyone other than Hardin in this way, I’d be
completely horrified, wine or not.
“No, they won’t. Do it. You want to, I can tell.”
How can he?
Do I want to?
“Just lie back on the bed, close your eyes, spread your legs,
and I’ll tell you what to do,” he says smoothly. As silken as his
words are, they come through as a full-on command.
“But I—”
“Do it.” The authority in his voice makes me squirm while
my mind and my hormones battle it out. I can’t deny that the
idea of Hardin coaxing me through this over the phone,
naming the dirty things he would do to me, raises the
temperature of the room at least ten degrees.
“Okay, now that you’ve submitted,” he begins without my
actually having said anything, “tell me when you are down to
only your panties.”
Oh . . . But I quietly pad over to the door and turn the lock
between my fingers. Kimberly and Christian’s room, as well as
Smith’s, is on the upper level of the house, but as far as I
know, they could still be on the first floor with me. I listen
closely for movement, and when I hear a door shut above me,
I feel better.
I hurry and grab the wine bottle, finishing it off. The heat
inside of me has turned from a small flicker to a blazing
inferno, and I try not to overthink the fact that I’m stepping out
of my pants and climbing onto the bed, wearing only a thin
cotton shirt and panties.
“Still with me?” Hardin asks, an evil smirk surely on his
face.
“Yes, I’m . . . I’m preparing.” I can’t believe I’m really
doing this.
“Stop overthinking it. You’ll thank me after.”
“Stop knowing everything that I’m thinking,” I tease,
hoping that he’s right.
“You remember what I showed you, right?”
I nod, forgetting that he can’t see me.
“I’ll take nervous silence as a yes. Good. So, just press your
fingers where you did last time . . .”
chapter eighty
HARDIN
I hear Tessa gasp, and I know she’s followed my instructions.
I can picture it perfectly, her lying on the bed, legs spread
open. Holy fuck.
“God, I wish I was there right now, to watch you,” I groan,
trying to ignore the blood rushing straight to my dick.
“You like that, don’t you—to watch me?” she gasps
through the line.
“Yeah, fuck yeah, I do. And you like to be watched, I can
tell.”
“I do, just like the way you like it when I pull your hair.”
Reflexively, my hand goes between my legs. Images of her
writhing underneath my tongue, her fingers tugging my hair as
she moans my name, fill my mind, and I press my palm
against myself. Only Tessa can make me this hard this quickly.
Her moans are quiet, too quiet. She needs more
encouragement.
“Faster, Tess, move your fingers in a circle, faster. Imagine
I’m there, it’s me, and my fingers are circling you, making you
feel so fucking good, making you come,” I say, keeping my
voice down in case my annoying houseguest happens to be in
the hall.
“Oh my,” she pants and moans again.
“My tongue, too, baby, swirling against your skin, my
sinful lips pressed against you, sucking, biting, teasing.” I slide
my gym shorts down and begin to stroke myself gently. I close
my eyes and focus on her soft pants, pleas, and moans.
“Do what I’m doing—touch yourself,” she whispers, and
I’m gifted with the image of her back arching off the mattress
as she pleasures herself.
“Already am,” I mutter, and she whimpers. Fuck, I want to
see her.
“Talk to me, again,” Tessa begs. I fucking love the way her
innocence disappears in these moments . . . she always loves
to hear such filthy things.
“I want to fuck you. No—I want to lay you back on the
bed, and make love to you, hard and fast, so powerfully that
you’re screaming my name as I thrust deeper and deeper—”
“I’m . . .” she moans low in her throat. And her breath
catches.
“Come on, baby, let go. I want to hear you.” I stop speaking
when I hear her come, soft whimpers and whines as she bites
into the pillow, or the mattress. I have no fucking clue, but the
image sends me over the edge, and I spill into my boxers with
a strangled groan of her name.
Our matched breathing is the only sound on the line for
seconds or minutes, I can’t keep track.
“That was . . .” she begins, panting and out of breath.
I open my eyes and rest my elbows on the desk in front of
me. My chest moves up and down as I try to catch my own
breath. “Yeah.”
“I need a moment.” She giggles. A slow smile tugs at the
corners of my mouth, and then she adds, “And here I thought
we had done close to everything.”
“Oh, there are plenty of other things I want to do to you.
However, alas, we have to be in the same city to do them.”
“Come here, then,” she says quickly.
I put the phone on speaker and examine my hand, front and
back. “You said you didn’t want me there. We need space,
remember?”
“I know,” she says a little sadly. “We do need space . . . and
this seems to be working for us. Don’t you think?”
“No,” I lie. But I know she’s right: I’ve been trying to be
better for her, and I’m afraid that if she’s quick to forgive me
again, I’ll slip and lose the motivation. If we . . . when we find
our way back to each other, I want it to be different, for her. I
want it to be permanent so I can show her that the pattern—the
“endless cycle,” as she calls it—will end.
“I do miss you, so much,” she says. I know she loves me,
but each time I’m given a sliver of reassurance, it’s like a
weight’s been lifted from my chest.
“I miss you, too.” More than anything.
“Don’t say ‘too.’ It sounds like you’re just agreeing with
me,” she says sarcastically, and my small smile grows,
overtaking my entire being.
“You can’t use my ideas; way to be original,” I playfully
scold her and she laughs.
“Can, too,” she childishly fires back. If she were here, I’d
be greeted with her tongue sticking out at me in mock
defiance.
“God, you’re feisty tonight.” I roll off the bed; I need a
shower.
“That I am.”
“And incredibly daring. Who knew I could convince you to
get yourself off over the phone?” I chuckle and walk into the
hallway.
“Hardin!” she squeals in horror, like I knew she would.
“And by the way, you should know by now that you can get
me to do just about anything.”
“If only that were true . . .” I murmur. If it was, she would
be here now.
In the hallway, the floor is cold on my bare feet, and I
wince. But when I hear a voice start to speak, I drop my phone
to the ground.
“Sorry, man,” Richard says close to me. “It was getting a
little warm in here earlier, so I—”
He stops when he sees me scramble to pick up my phone,
but it’s too late.
“Who was that?” I hear Tessa exclaim through the speaker
on my phone. The drowsy, relaxed girl she’d been so recently
is gone, and she’s on high alert. “Hardin, who was that?” she
asks more forcefully.
Fuck. I mouth a quick “way to fucking go” to her father and
grab the phone, removing it from speaker and hurrying to the
bathroom. “It’s—” I begin.
“Was that my father?”
I want to lie to her, but that would be fucking stupid, and
I’m trying not to be so damn stupid anymore. “Yeah, it was,” I
say, and wait for her to scream into the receiver.
“Why is he there?” she questions.
“I . . . well . . .”
“Are you letting him stay with you?” She releases me from
the panic of having to find the right words to say in order to
explain this fucked-up situation.
“Something like that.”
“I’m confused.”
“So am I,” I admit.
“For how long? And why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m sorry . . . it’s only been like two days.”
The next thing I hear is the sound of water running in a tub,
so she must be feeling okay to start that up. But still she asks,
“Why did he come there in the first place?”
I can’t bring myself to tell her the whole truth, not right
now. “He doesn’t have anywhere else to go, I guess.” I start
the shower myself as she sighs.
“Okay . . .”
“Are you mad?” I ask.
“No, I’m not mad. I’m confused . . .” she says, her voice
full of wonder. “I can’t believe you’re actually allowing him to
stay at your apartment.”
“Neither can I.”
The small bathroom fills with a thick cloud of steam, and I
wipe the mirror with my palm. I look like a fucking ghost, a
shell, really. Under my eyes, dark rings have already appeared
from my lack of sleep. The only thing that gives me life is
Tess’s voice coming through the line.
“It means a lot to me, Hardin,” she finally says.
“It does?” This is going much, much better than I expected.
“Yes, of course it does.”
I feel giddy all of the sudden, like a puppy that’s been
rewarded with a treat from its owner . . . and surprisingly, I’m
perfectly fucking okay with that.
“Good.” I don’t know what else to say to her. I feel slightly
guilty for not telling her about her father’s . . . habits, but this
isn’t the time, and over the phone isn’t the way.
“Wait . . . so my father was there when you were . . . you
know?” she whispers, and a small roar sounds on the other
line. She must have turned on the fan in the bathroom to
drown out her voice.
“Well, he wasn’t in the room; I’m not into that type of
thing,” I tease, to lighten the mood, and she responds with a
giggle.
“You probably are,” she jokes.
“Nope, that’s one of the very few things I’m not into,
believe it or not,” I say with a smile. “I will never share you,
baby. Not even with your father.”
I can’t help but laugh as she makes a sound of disgust.
“You’re sick!”
“Sure am,” I fire back, and she giggles. The wine has made
her adventurous and heightened her sense of humor. Me? Well,
I have no damn excuse for this ridiculous grin on my face.
“I need to take a shower; I’m standing here with come all
over me.” I step put of my boxers.
“Me, too,” she says. “Not the part about being covered
with . . . you know, but I’m pretty messy and in need of a
shower, too.”
“Okay . . . so I guess we should get off . . .”
“We did already.” She laughs, proud of her terrible attempt
at a joke.
“Ha ha,” I tease. But then I rush out my “Have a good
night, Tessa.”
“You, too,” she says, lingering on the line, and I end the
call before she can.
Hot water cascades down my body. I still haven’t fully
recovered from her touching herself while we were on the
phone. It’s not only a huge fucking turn-on; it’s . . . more than
that. It shows that she still trusts me, she still trusts me enough
to expose herself to me. Lost in my thoughts, I push the hard
bar of soap across my tattooed skin. It’s hard to imagine that
only two weeks ago, we stood in this shower together . . .
“I think this one is my favorite.” She touched a tattoo and
peered up at me through wet lashes.
“Why is that? I hate that one.” I glanced down at her small
fingers trailing over the large flower etched near my elbow.
“I don’t know; it’s sort of beautiful the way you have a
flower surrounded by all of this darkness.” Her finger moved
over the haunting design of a withered skull just below.
“I never thought of it that way.” I pressed my thumb under
her chin to bring her eyes to mine. “You always see the light in
me . . . How is that possible when there isn’t any?”
“There’s plenty. And you’ll see it, too. Someday.” She
smiled and stood on her toes to press her lips against the
corner of my mouth. Water rushed between our lips, and she
smiled again before pulling away.
“I hope you’re right,” I whispered into the stream of water,
so quietly that she didn’t hear me.
The memory haunts me, replaying as I try to wash it away.
It’s not that I don’t want to remember her, because I do. Tessa
is my every thought—she always is. It’s only the memories
and times when she gave me too much praise, when she tried
to convince me that I’m better than I really am, that drive me
mad.
I wish I could see myself the way she sees me. I wish I
could believe her when she says that I’m good for her. But
how can that be true when I’m so fucked up?
It means a lot to me, Hardin, she said only minutes ago.
Maybe if I keep doing what I’m doing now and stay away
from shit that could get me in trouble, I can continue to do
things that mean a lot to her. I can make her happy instead of
miserable, and maybe, just maybe, I could see some of the
light in myself that she claims to see.
Maybe there is hope for us after all.
chapter eighty-one
TESSA
I can’t help the anxiety that fills me as I drive through the
campus. The WCU Seattle campus is not as small as Ken had
made it out to be, and all the roads in Seattle seem intent on
curving and going up and down hills.
I prepared as best I could to ensure that everything would
go as planned today. I left two hours early to be sure to make it
to my first class on time. Half of that time was spent sitting in
traffic, listening to talk radio. I’d never understood that whole
fad until this morning, when a distraught woman called in and
told the story of her best friend betraying her by sleeping with
her husband. And the two of them running off together, taking
her cat, Mazzy, with them. Through her tears, she held on to a
certain amount of her dignity . . . Well, about as much as
someone calling in to a radio station to relate her own tale of
woe possibly could. I found myself sucked right into her
dramatic story, and in the end I got the sense that even she
knew she was better off without that guy.
By the time I stop by the administration building and
retrieve my student identification card and parking pass, I have
only thirty minutes before my class. My nerves are stretched to
the limit, and I can’t shake my anxiety over possibly being late
to my first class. Luckily, I find the student parking lot easily,
and it’s near to where my class is, so I make it with fifteen
minutes to spare.
As I take my seat in the front row, I can’t help but feel a
sense of loneliness. There was no meeting Landon at the
coffee shop before class, and he’s not in the seat next to mine
now as I sit in this classroom remembering my first half year
of college.
The classroom fills with students, and I begin to regret my
decision when I notice that besides me and one other female,
the entire class is guys. I thought I’d sandwich this course—
which I didn’t really want to take—between some others this
semester, but overall I just wish I hadn’t decided to take
political science at all.
A handsome boy with light brown skin sits down in the
empty chair next to me, and I try not to stare at him. His white
button-up shirt is crisp and perfectly ironed at the seams, and
he’s wearing a tie. He looks like a politician, bright white
smile and all.
He notices me looking at him and grins. “Can I help you
with something?” he asks, his voice full of both authority and
charm.
Yeah, he’s certainly going to be a politician one day.
“No, s-sorry,” I stammer, not meeting his eyes.
When class starts, I avoid looking at him and instead focus
on taking notes, reading over the syllabus repeatedly, and
looking at my map of the campus until class is dismissed.
My next class, art history, is much better. I feel more
comfortable surrounded by a casual crowd of art students. A
boy with blue hair sits next to me and introduces himself as
Michael. As the teacher has us all go around and introduce
ourselves, I find that I’m the only English major in the room.
But everyone is friendly, and Michael has quite a sense of
humor, making jokes throughout class and keeping everyone
entertained, including our instructor.
Creative writing is last, and most certainly the most
enjoyable. I’m lost in the process of writing down my thoughts
on paper, and it’s freeing, entertaining, and I love it. When my
professor releases us, it feels as if only ten minutes have
passed.
The rest of my week comes and goes in this fashion. I
oscillate between feeling like I’m finding my way around
more easily and thinking I’m just as confused as ever. But
most of all, I feel as if I’m constantly waiting for something
that never comes.
BY THE TIME Friday evening arrives, I’m exhausted and my
entire body is tense. This week has been challenging, both in
good ways and bad. I miss the familiarity of the old campus
and having Landon there with me. I miss Hardin meeting me
between classes, and I even miss Zed and the glowing flowers
that fill the environmental studies building.
Zed. I haven’t spoken to him once since he rescued me
from Steph and Dan at the party and drove me all the way to
my mother’s house. He saved me from being thoroughly
violated and humiliated, and I haven’t even thanked him. I put
down my political science textbook and reach for my phone.
“Hello?” Zed’s voice sounds so foreign, despite the fact that
it’s been no more than a week since I’ve heard it.
“Zed? Hi, it’s Tessa.” I chew on the inside of my cheek and
wait for his response.
“Um, hey.”
I take a deep breath and know that I have to say what I
called to say. “Listen, I’m so sorry for not calling you to thank
you sooner. Everything has happened so fast this week, and I
think part of me was trying not to think about what happened.
And I know that’s not a good excuse . . . so, I’m a jerk, and
I’m sorry, and—” The words are rushing out of my mouth so
quickly I can barely process what I’m saying, but he interrupts
me before I finish.
“It’s all right, I know you had a lot going on.”
“I still should have called you, especially after what you did
for me. I can’t tell you how thankful I am that you were at that
party,” I say, desperate for him to understand how much
gratitude I feel toward him. I shiver at the recollection of
Dan’s fingertips trailing up my thigh. “If you hadn’t shown up,
God only knows what they would’ve done to me . . .”
“Hey,” he says to silence me, but gently. “I stopped them
before anything could happen, Tessa. Try not to think about it.
And you definitely don’t have to thank me for anything.”
“But I do! And I can’t help how much it hurts me that
Steph would do what she did. I never did anything to hurt her,
or any of you—”
“Please don’t include me with them,” Zed says, clearly a
little insulted.
“No, no, I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to say that you were
involved. I just meant your group of friends.” I apologize for
the way my mouth has been moving before my mind has
approved the words.
“ ’S’okay,” he mumbles. “Anyway, we aren’t much of a
group anymore. Tristan is leaving for New Orleans early—in a
few days, actually—and I haven’t seen Steph on campus all
week.”
“Oh . . .” I pause and look around this room I’m staying in,
in this massive, somewhat alien house. “Zed, I’m also sorry
for accusing you of texting me from Hardin’s phone. Steph
admitted that it was her during the . . . Dan incident.” I smile,
to try and counteract the shiver that person’s name induces.
He lets out a little breath that might also be a chuckle. “I
have to admit, I did appear to be the most likely candidate to
have done that,” he replies sweetly. “So . . . how’s
everything?”
“Seattle is . . . different,” I say.
“You’re there? I thought maybe since Hardin was at your
mom’s house—”
“No, I’m here.” I interrupt him before he can tell me how
he, too, expected me to stay for Hardin.
“Have you made any new friends?”
“What do you think?” I smile and reach across the bed to
grab my half-empty glass of water.
“You will soon.” He laughs, and I join him.
“I doubt it.” I think of the two women who were gossiping
in the break room at Vance. Each time I saw them this week,
they seemed to be laughing to themselves, and I can’t help but
think they were laughing at me. “I really am sorry it took me
so long to call.”
“Tessa, it’s okay—stop apologizing. You do that too much.”
“Sorry,” I say and lightly smack my palm against my
forehead. Both that waiter, Robert, and Zed have said that I
apologize too much. Maybe they’re right.
“Do you think you’ll come visit anytime soon? Or are we
still . . . not able to be friends?” he asks softly.
“We can be friends,” I remark. “But I have no clue when
I’ll be able to come visit.” Truthfully, I’d been wanting to go
back home this weekend. I miss Hardin and the traffic-less
streets further east.
But wait—why did I just call it home? I only lived there six
months.
And then I realize: Hardin. It’s because of Hardin.
Wherever he is will always feel like home to me.
“Well, that’s too bad. Maybe I’ll make a trip to Seattle
soon. I have some friends there,” Zed says. “Would that be
okay?” he asks after a few seconds.
“Oh, yeah! Of course.”
“Okay.” He laughs. “I’m flying down to Florida to see my
parents this weekend—I’m running late for my flight, actually
—but maybe I could try next weekend or something?”
“Yeah, sure. Just let me know. Have fun in Florida,” I say
just before I hang up. I put the phone down on my stack of
notes, and mere seconds later it vibrates.
Hardin’s name appears on the screen, and taking a deep
breath and ignoring the flutter in my chest, I answer.
“What are you doing?” he asks immediately.
“Um, nothing.”
“Where are you?”
“Kim and Christian’s house. Where are you?” I
sarcastically respond.
“Home,” he says matter-of-factly. “Where else would I
be?”
“I don’t know . . . the gym?” Hardin has been consistently
going to the gym, every day, all week.
“I just left there. Now I’m home.”
“How was it, Captain Brevity?”
“Same,” he curtly remarks.
“Is something wrong?” I ask him.
“No. I’m fine. How was your day?” He’s quick to change
the subject, and I wonder why, but I don’t want to push him,
not with the phone call to Zed weighing on my chest already.
“It was okay. Long, I guess. I still don’t like my political
science class,” I groan.
“I told you to drop it already. You can take another class for
your social science elective,” he reminds me.
I lie back on my bed. “I know . . . I’ll be okay.”
“Are you staying in tonight?” he asks, warning clear in his
voice.
“Yeah, I’m already in my pajamas.”
“Good,” he says, which makes me roll my eyes.
“I called Zed, just a few minutes ago,” I blurt. Might as
well get it over with. Silence looms on the line, and I wait
patiently for Hardin’s breathing to slow.
“You what?” he says sharply.
“I called him to thank him for . . . last weekend.”
“Why, though? I thought we were . . .” I can hear him
barely controlling his anger as he breathes heavily into the
receiver. “Tessa, I thought we were working on our problems.”
“We are, but I owed it to him. If he hadn’t shown up when
he did—”
“I know!” Hardin snaps, like he’s trying to keep something
at bay.
I don’t want to argue with him, but I can’t expect anything
to change if I keep things from him. “He said he was thinking
about visiting,” I say.
“He’s not coming there. End of discussion.”
“Hardin . . .”
“Tessa, no. He isn’t. I’m doing my best here, okay? I’m
trying really fucking hard not to lose my shit right now, so the
least you can do is help me out on this.”
I sigh in defeat. “Okay.” Spending time with Zed can’t
possibly end well for anyone, Zed included. I can’t lead him
on again. It’s not fair to him, and I don’t think he and I will
ever be able to have a strictly platonic relationship, not in
Hardin’s eyes, or, really, in Zed’s own.
“Thank you. Now, if it were always that easy to get you to
comply . . .”
What? “I will never just comply, Hardin, that’s—”
“Easy, easy, I’m just teasing. No need to get all testy,” he
says quickly. “Anything else I should know about while you’re
at it?”
“No.”
“Good. Now, tell me what’s been happening on that shitty
radio station you’ve become obsessed with.”
And as I go into detail about a woman who was looking for
her long-lost love from high school while she was pregnant
with her neighbor’s child, the lurid details of the story, and the
scandal that ensues, have me animated and laughing. By the
time I mention the cat, Mazzy, I’m laughing hysterically. I tell
him how it would be hard to be in love with one man while
pregnant with another man’s child, and he doesn’t agree. Of
course, he believes the man and woman brought the scandal
upon themselves, and teases me for getting so involved in talk
radio. Hardin laughs along with my story, and I close my eyes
and pretend that he’s lying next to me.
chapter eighty-two
HARDIN
I’m sorry!” Richard says with a ragged breath. A layer of
sweat has coated his entire body as he wipes his vomit from
his chin. I lean against the doorframe and debate whether or
not to walk away, leaving him in his own filth.
He’s been doing this all day, vomiting, shaking, sweating,
whining.
“It will be out of my system soo—”
He leans back over the toilet and expels more vomit, like a
geyser. Fucking great. At least he made it to the toilet this
time.
“Hope so,” I say and leave the bathroom. I open the
window in the kitchen, allowing the cold breeze to waft in, and
grab a clean glass from the cabinet. The sink creaks as I turn
the faucet to fill the glass, and I shake my head.
What the hell am I supposed to do with him? He’s detoxing
all over my goddamn bathroom. With one last sigh, I take the
glass of water and a sleeve of crackers into the bathroom and
place them on the rim of the sink.
I tap his shoulder. “Eat these.”
He nods in acknowledgment—or from delirium tremens
and/or withdrawal. His skin is so pale and clammy, it reminds
me of clay. I don’t actually think eating crackers will help him,
but the possibility is there.
“Thanks,” he finally groans, and I leave him alone again to
vomit all over my bathroom.
This bedroom—my bedroom—isn’t the same without her.
The bed is never made correctly when I climb into it at night.
I’ve tried time and time again to tuck the corners of the sheet
under the mattress the way Tessa does, but it’s just not
possible. My clothes, clean and dirty, are scattered across the
floor, empty water bottles and soda cans clutter the end tables,
and it’s cold. The heat is on, but the room is just . . . cold.
I send her one last text message to wish her good night and
close my eyes, praying for a dreamless sleep . . . for once.
“Tessa?” I call from the hallway, announcing that I’m
home. The apartment is quiet; only soft sounds fill the air. Is
Tessa on the phone with someone?
“Tessa!” I call again and turn the bedroom doorknob. The
sight that greets my eyes stops me dead in my tracks. Tessa is
sprawled out on the white duvet, her blond hair matted to her
forehead with sweat, the fingers of one hand gripping the
headboard and a fistful of raven hair in the other. As she rocks
her hips, I can feel ice replacing the hot blood pumping
through my veins.
Zed’s head is buried between her creamy thighs. His hands
roam her body.
I try to move toward them to grab him by his throat and
throw him against the wall, but my feet are frozen to the
ground. I try to scream at them, but my mouth refuses to open.
“Oh, Zed,” Tessa moans. I cover my ears with my hands,
but it doesn’t help—her voice travels straight to my brain;
there’s no escaping it.
“You’re so beautiful,” he coos, and she moans again. One
of his hands travels up to her chest, and he runs his fingertips
over her while his mouth is pressed against her.
I’m frozen.
They don’t see me; they haven’t even noticed that I’m in the
room. Tessa calls out his name once more, and when his head
lifts from between her thighs, he finally sees me. He keeps eye
contact with me while his lips run up her body, to her jaw,
nipping along the way. My eyes won’t leave their naked
bodies, and my insides have been ripped from my body and
tossed onto the cold floor. I can’t bear to watch this, but I’m
forced to do so anyway.
“I love you,” he says to her while smirking at me.
“I love you, too,” Tessa whimpers. She rakes her nails
down his tattooed back as he thrusts into her. Finally, my voice
comes as I scream, silencing their moans.
“Fuck!” I scream out, and grab the glass from the
nightstand. With a crash, it shatters against the wall.
chapter eighty-three
HARDIN
I’m pacing back and forth across the floor, furious fingers
tugging at my sweat-soaked hair, all the clothes and books I’m
stepping on registering vividly on the soles of my bare feet.
“Hardin? Are you okay?” Tessa’s voice is thick with sleep.
I’m so glad she answered. I need her to be here with me, even
through a telephone line.
“I . . . I don’t know,” I croak into the phone.
“What’s wrong?”
“Are you in bed?” I ask her.
“Yes, it’s three in the morning. Where else would I be?
What’s wrong, Hardin?”
“I just can’t sleep, that’s all,” I admit, staring into the
darkness of our—my—room.
“Oh . . .” She lets out a long breath of relief. “I was worried
for a second.”
“Did you talk to Zed again?” I ask her.
“What? No, I haven’t talked to him since I told you about
him wanting to visit.”
“Call him and tell him that he can’t.” I sound like a lunatic,
but I don’t give a shit.
“I’m not calling him this late, what’s gotten into you?”
She’s being so defensive . . . though I suppose I can’t blame
her. “Nothing, Tessa. Never mind.” I sigh.
“Hardin, what’s going on?” she asks, clearly worried.
“Nothing, just . . . nothing.” I hang up the phone and press
down on the power button until the screen turns black.
chapter eighty-four
TESSA
You’re not staying in your pajamas the entire day again, are
you?” Kimberly asks the next morning when she sees me
sitting at the kitchen counter.
I spoon a mouthful of granola into my mouth, so I’m
unable to answer her. Because that’s exactly what I plan to do
today. I didn’t sleep well after Hardin’s phone call. He has
since sent a few text messages, none of them mentioning his
odd behavior last night. I want to call him, but the way he
hung up so quickly makes me think better of it. Besides, I
haven’t paid much attention to Kimberly since I arrived. Most
of my free time has been spent talking on the phone with
Hardin or doing my first round of assignments for my new
classes. The least I can do is chat with her over breakfast.
“You never wear clothes,” Smith chimes in, and I nearly
spit the granola out onto the table.
“Yes, I do,” I reply, my mouth still full.
“You’re right, Smith, she doesn’t.” Kimberly cackles, and I
roll my eyes at her.
At that moment Christian enters the room and places a kiss
against her temple. Smith smiles at his father and soon-to-be
stepmother before looking back to me.
“Pajamas are more comfortable,” I tell him, and he nods in
agreement. His green eyes look down at himself, taking in his
Spider-Man print pajamas. “Do you like Spider-Man?” I ask,
wanting to start a conversation that isn’t about me.
His small fingers pick at his toast. “No.”
“No? You’re wearing those,” I reply and point to his
clothing.
“She bought them.” He nods toward Kim. Then he
whispers, “Don’t tell her I hate them; she’ll cry.”
I laugh. Smith is five going on twenty.
“I won’t,” I promise him, and we finish the meal in
comfortable silence.
chapter eighty-five
HARDIN
Landon shakes the moisture from his hat onto the floor and
rests his closed umbrella against the wall in an exaggerated
and theatrical way. He wants me to see what an “effort” he’s
making to help me out.
“Well, what was so urgent that I had to come here in the
freezing rain?” he asks, half smug, half concerned. Looking at
my bare chest, he adds, “You know, the thing that I actually
put clothes on for and ran over to help out with. So what is it?”
I wave toward Richard, who’s spread out on the couch,
asleep. “Him.”
Landon leans to one side to look around me. “Who is that?”
he asks. Then, straightening, he looks at me with a gaping
mouth. “Wait . . . Is that Tessa’s father?”
I roll my eyes at his question. “No, it’s another random,
homeless fuck that I let sleep on my couch. It’s what all the
hipsters are doing nowadays.”
He ignores my sarcasm. “Why is he here? Does Tessa
know?”
“Yes, she knows. However, she doesn’t know that he’s been
going through withdrawal for the last five days and vomiting
all over the damn place.”
Richard groans in his sleep, and I grab Landon by the
sleeve of his plaid shirt and pull him into the hallway.
This is clearly a little out of my stepbrother’s league.
“Withdrawal?” he asks. “From, like, drugs?”
“Yes. And alcohol.”
He seems to ponder this for a second. “He hasn’t found
your liquor yet?” he asks, then raises a brow at me. “Or has he
already consumed it?”
“I don’t have any liquor here anymore, dick.”
He peers back around the corner to the sleeping man
perched on my couch. “I still don’t see how I fit into this.”
“You’re going to babysit him,” I inform him, and he
immediately takes a step back.
“No way!” He tries to whisper, but his voice comes out
much more like a hushed scream.
“Chill.” I pat his shoulder. “It’s only for one night.”
“No way. I’m not staying here with him. I don’t even know
him!”
“Neither do I,” I counter.
“You know him better than I do; he would be your father-
in-law someday if you weren’t such an idiot.” Landon’s words
hit me harder than they should. Father-in-law? The title sounds
odd when I repeat it in my mind . . . while I’m staring at this
gross lump of man on my couch.
“I want to see her,” I plead.
“Who . . . Tess?”
“Yes, Tes-sa,” I correct him. “Who else?”
Landon starts playing with his fingers like a nervous child.
“Well, why can’t she come here? I don’t think it’s a good idea
for me to stay with him.”
“Don’t be such a pussy, he’s not dangerous or anything,” I
say. “Just make sure he doesn’t leave the apartment. There’s
plenty of food and water here.”
“You sound like you’re talking about a dog . . .” Landon
remarks.
I rub my temples in annoyance. “Dude might as well be at
this point. Are you going to help me or not?”
He glares at me, and I add, “For Tessa?” It’s a low blow,
but I know it will work.
After a second he breaks, and nods. “One night only,” he
agrees, and I turn away from him to hide my smile.
I don’t know how Tessa will react to me ignoring our
“space” agreement, but it’s only one night. One short night
with her is what I need right now. I need her. Phone calls and
text messages are sufficient enough during the week, but after
that nightmare I had, I need to see her more than anything. I
need to confirm the fact that her body holds no marks that
were put on it by anyone other than myself.
“Does she know you’re coming?” Landon asks me as he
follows me into the bedroom, where I search the floor for a T-
shirt to pull over my bare torso.
“She will once I arrive, won’t she?”
“She told me about you two on the phone.”
She did? That’s really unlike her.
“Why would she tell you about us getting off over the
phone . . . ?” I wonder.
Landon’s eyes go wide. “Whoa! What! What! I wasn’t . . .
Oh God,” he groans. He tries to cover his ears, but it’s too late.
His cheeks turn a deep red, and my laughter fills the bedroom.
“You have to be more specific when you’re talking about
Tessa and me, don’t you know that by now?” I grin, relishing
the memory of her moans coming through the line.
“Apparently I do.” He scowls and regroups. “I meant that
you two have been talking a lot on the phone.”
“And . . . ?”
“Does she seem happy to you?”
My smile disappears. “Why do you ask?”
Worry spreads over his features. “I’m just wondering. I’m a
little worried about her. She doesn’t seem as excited and happy
about Seattle as I assumed she’d be.”
“I don’t know.” I rub my hand over the back of my neck.
“She doesn’t sound happy, it’s true, but I can’t tell if it’s
because I’m an asshole or because she doesn’t like Seattle as
much as she thought she would,” I answer truthfully.
“I hope it’s the first. I want her to be happy there,” Landon
says.
“So do I, sort of,” I say.
Landon kicks a dirty pair of black jeans out from under his
foot.
“Hey, I was going to wear those,” I snap and bend down to
grab them.
“Don’t you have any clean clothes?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Have you done any laundry at all since she left?”
“Yes . . .” I lie.
“Uh-huh.” He points to the stain on my black T-shirt.
Mustard, maybe?
“Shit.” I pull the shirt off and toss it back onto the floor. “I
don’t have shit to wear.” I pull out the bottom drawer of the
dresser and let out a relieved breath when I spot a stack of
clean black T-shirts in the back.
“What about these?” Landon points to a pair of dark blue
jeans hanging in the closet.
“No.”
“Why not? You never wear anything other than black
jeans.”
“Exactly,” I retort.
“Well, the only pair of pants you seem to have to wear is
dirty, so—”
“I have five pairs,” I correct him. “They just happen to be
the same exact style.” With a huff, I reach past him into the
closet and pull the blue jeans off of the hanger. I hate these
fucking things. My mum bought them for me for Christmas,
and I vowed to never wear them, yet here I am. For true love
or something. She’d probably swoon.
“They’re a little . . . snug.” Landon bites down on his
bottom lip to keep from laughing.
“Fuck off,” I say and raise my middle finger, then finish
shoving shit into my bag.
Twenty minutes later we’re back in the living room,
Richard is still asleep, Landon is still making obnoxious
remarks about my fucking tight jeans, and I’m ready to go see
Tessa in Seattle.
“What should I tell him when he wakes up?” he asks.
“Whatever you want. It would be quite funny if you fucked
with him for a little while. You could pretend you’re me or
that you don’t know why he’s there.” I laugh. “He would be so
confused.”
Landon doesn’t see the humor in my idea, and he basically
pushes me out the door. “Be careful driving, the roads are
slick,” he warns.
“Gotcha.” I hoist my bag over my shoulder and leave
before he can make another mushy-ass remark.
DURING THE DRIVE, I can’t help but think about my
nightmare. It was so clear, so fucking vivid. I could hear Tessa
moaning that asshole’s name; I could even hear her nails
running along his skin.
I turn the radio up to drown out my thoughts, but it doesn’t
work. I decide to think of her instead, of memories of us
together, to stop the images from haunting me. Otherwise this
will be the longest drive of my entire life.
“Look how cute those babies are!” Tessa had squealed
while pointing to a platoon of squirming little beings. Well,
only two babies, actually. But still.
“Yeah, yeah. So cute.” I rolled my eyes and dragged her
along through the store.
“They even have matching bows in their hair.” She was
smiling so big, and her voice did that weird high-pitched thing
that women do when they’re around small children and some
hormone or other kicks in.
“Yep,” I said and continued behind her down the narrow
aisles at Conner’s. She’d been searching for some specific
cheese she needed to make our dinner that night. But babies
overtook her brain.
“Admit that they were cute.” She beamed up at me, and I
shook my head in defiance. “Come on, Hardin, you know they
were cute. Just say it.”
“They. Were. Cute . . .” I responded flatly, and she pressed
her mouth into a hard line while she crossed her arms over her
chest like a petulant child herself.
“Maybe you’ll turn out to be one of those people who only
thinks their own kids are cute,” she said, and I watched as a
dawning recognition quickly stole her smile away. “That is, if
you ever want kids.” she added somberly, making me want to
kiss away the frown on her beautiful face.
“Sure, maybe. Too bad I don’t want them, though,” I said,
trying to drill the statement permanently into her head.
“I know . . .” she said softly. Soon thereafter, she found the
item she was so avidly searching for and dropped it into the
basket with a dull thud.
Her smile still hadn’t returned by the time we were waiting
in the checkout line. I looked down and gently nudged with my
elbow. “Hey.”
When she looked up at me, her eyes were dim, and she was
obviously waiting for me to speak.
“I know we agreed not to talk about kids anymore . . .” I
started as she focused her eyes on the floor. “Hey,” I repeated
and set the basket on the floor next to my boot. “Look at me.”
Both of my hands covered her cheeks, and I pressed my
forehead against hers.
“It’s okay. I wasn’t really thinking when I said that,” she
admitted with a shrug.
I watched as she glanced around the small market, taking
in our surroundings, and I could practically see her wondering
why I was touching her this way in public.
“Well then, let’s agree again not to bring up children. It
does nothing but cause problems between us,” I said and gave
her a quick kiss to her lips, followed by another. My lips
lingered on hers, and her small hands pushed into the pockets
of my jacket.
“I love you, Hardin,” she said when Grumpy Gloria, the
cashier we’d laughed about many times, cleared her throat.
“I love you, Tess. I will love you enough that you won’t
even need children,” I promised her.
She turned away from me—to hide her frown, I know. But
right then I didn’t care, because I figured the question was
settled, and I’d gotten what I wanted.
As I continue to drive, I begin to wonder: Has there ever
been a time in my life when I wasn’t a selfish prick?
chapter eighty-six
TESSA
As I’m plodding from my room to the couch with a copy of
Wuthering Heights in hand, Kimberly says with a beautiful
wide smile, “You’re in a funk, Tessa, and as your friend and
mentor, it’s my responsibility to get you out of it.” Her blond
hair is straight and glossy, and her makeup is too perfect. She’s
one of those women that other women love to hate.
“Mentor? Really?” I giggle, and she rolls her heavily
shadowed eyes.
“Okay, maybe not so much of a mentor. But a friend,” she
corrects herself.
“I’m not in a funk. I just have a lot of course work to do,
and I just don’t feel like going anywhere tonight,” I say.
“You are nineteen, girl—act like it! When I was nineteen, I
was out all the time. I barely showed up for any of my classes.
I dated boys . . . many, many, boys.” Her heel taps on the
concrete floor.
“Did you, now?” Christian cuts in as he enters the room.
He’s unwrapping some sort of tape from around his hands.
“None as wonderful as you, of course.” Kim winks at him,
and he laughs.
He grins. “That’s what I get for dating such a young
woman. I have to compete with still-fresh memories of
college-age men.” His green eyes shine with humor.
“Hey, I’m not that much younger than you,” she says with a
smack to his chest.
“Twelve years,” he points out.
Kimberly rolls her eyes. “Yes, but you’re a young soul.
Unlike Tessa here, who behaves as if she’s forty.”
“Sure, honey.” He tosses the used tape into a wastepaper
basket. “Now, go on and enlighten the girl about how not to
behave during college.” He gives her one last smile, smacks
her on her ass, and disappears, leaving her grinning from ear to
ear.
“I love that man so much,” she tells me, and I nod along,
because I know it’s true. “I really wanted you to come along
with us tonight. Christian and his partners just opened a new
jazz club downtown. It’s beautiful, and I’m sure you’d have an
amazing time.”
“Christian owns a jazz club?” I ask.
“He invested in it, so he didn’t actually do any work,” she
whispers with a sly smile. “They have guest musicians on
Saturdays, sort of an open-mic-type thing.”
I shrug. “Maybe next weekend?” The last thing I want to do
right now is get dressed and go out to any type of club.
“Fine, next weekend: I’m holding you to that. Smith
doesn’t want to come either. I’ve tried to convince him, but
you know how he is. He lectured me on how jazz is nothing,
compared to classical music.” She laughs. “So his sitter will be
here in a few hours.”
“I can watch him,” I offer. “I’ll be here, anyway.”
“No, honey, you don’t have to.”
“I know, but I want to.”
“Well, it would be kinda great, and so much easier. He
doesn’t like the sitter, for some reason.”
“He doesn’t like me either.” I laugh.
“True, but he talks to you more than he does to most
people.” She looks down at the engagement ring on her finger
and then up to Smith’s school portrait hanging over the mantel.
“He’s such a sweet boy . . . just very guarded,” she says
quietly, almost as an afterthought.
A doorbell sounds, breaking the moment.
Kimberly looks at me quizzically. “Now, who the heck
would be coming here in the middle of the afternoon?” she
asks, as if I could possibly know the answer.
I stand there, looking at a really cute picture of Smith on
the wall. He’s such a serious little kid. Like a little engineer or
mathematician, almost.
“Well . . . well . . . well . . . Look who it is!” Kimberly calls
from the door. When I turn to see what she’s talking about, my
mouth falls open.
“Hardin!” His name falls from my lips without a single
thought, and an immediate surge of adrenaline at the sight of
him propels me across the room. My socks make me slide on
the hardwood floor, nearly causing me to fall on my face.
Once I’m steady enough to continue, I latch myself on to him,
hugging him tighter than maybe I ever have before.
chapter eighty-seven
HARDIN
I nearly have a goddamned heart attack when Tessa stumbles
and starts to fall, but she quickly collects herself and hurls
herself into my arms.
This is sure as hell not the reaction I had expected.
I thought I would be granted with an uncomfortable “hello”
and a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. But man, was I wrong.
Very wrong. Tessa tightens her arms around my neck, and I
bury my head in her hair. The sweet scent of her shampoo fills
my senses, and I’m momentarily overwhelmed by her
presence, warm and welcoming, in my arms.
“Hi,” I finally say, and she glances up at me.
“You’re freezing,” she remarks. Her hands move to my
cheeks, instantly heating them.
“It’s freezing rain out there, and it’s worse back home . . .
my home, I mean,” I correct myself. Her eyes quickly dart to
the floor before looking back up at me.
“What are you doing here?” she practically whispers to me,
trying her best to shield the question from our company.
“I called Christian on the way up,” I inform Kimberly, who
continues to faux-glare at me, a smirk playing on her painted
lips.
Couldn’t stay away, could you? she mouths to me behind
Tessa’s back. That woman is the biggest ballbuster around;
I’m not sure how Christian puts up with her, and willingly at
that.
“You can stay in the room across from Tessa’s, she can
show you,” Kimberly announces and then disappears.
I detach myself from Tessa and give her a little smile.
“I—I’m sorry!” Tessa stutters, looking around the room and
blushing. “I don’t know why I did that. I-it’s just nice to see a
familiar face.”
“It’s good to see you, too,” I tell her, trying to free her of
her embarrassment. It’s not like I let go because I didn’t want
to hold her. Her lack of confidence always has her interpret
things in negative ways.
“I slipped on the floor,” she blurts out, then flushes again as
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, trying my best not to
laugh at her.
“Yeah, I saw it.” I can’t help the small chuckle that escapes
from me, and she shakes her head, laughing at herself.
“Are you really staying?” she asks.
“Yes, if that’s okay with you?”
Her eyes are bright and a lighter shade of blue-gray than
usual. Her hair is down, slightly wavy and unstyled. Not a
trace of makeup mars her complexion, and she looks
absolutely fucking perfect. The number of hours that I’ve
spent picturing her face in front of me did not adequately
prepare me for the moment when I’m finally able to look at
her again. My mind can’t possibly catch all of her, all the
details . . . the freckle just below her neckline, the curve of her
lips, the brilliance of her eyes—it’s fucking impossible.
Her T-shirt hangs loose on her body, and those hideous
fluffy cloud pants cover her legs. She keeps adjusting her shirt,
tugging it down, playing with the collar; she’s the only girl
I’ve ever seen who can manage to wear these ugly-ass clothes
to bed but somehow still look so damn sexy. Through the
white shirt, I can see her black bra . . . she’s wearing that black
lace one that I love. I wonder if she’s aware that I can see right
through her shirt . . .
“What changed your mind? And where’s the rest of your
stuff?” Tessa asks as she leads me down the hallway.
“Everyone else’s rooms are upstairs,” she informs me,
unaware of my perverted thoughts. Or maybe she’s not . . .
“This is all I brought. It’s only for one night,” I tell her, and
she stops in front of me.
“You’re only staying one night?” she says, her eyes
searching my face.
“Yeah, what did you think? That I was moving here?” Of
course she did. She always has too much faith in me.
“No.” She looks away. “I don’t know, I thought a little
longer than that, though.” And now this is where it gets
awkward. I knew it would.
“Here’s the room.” She opens the door for me, but I don’t
step inside.
“Your room is just across the hall?” My voice breaks, and I
sound like a damned fool.
“Yeah,” she mutters, looking down at her fingers.
“Cool,” I remark dumbly. “You’re sure it’s okay that I’m
here, right?”
“Yes, of course. You know I missed you.”
The excitement on her face seems to vanish as the memory
of my previous actions—being an asshole in general, and
refusing to come to Seattle specifically—looms unspoken over
our heads. I’ll never forget the way she ran to me, literally,
when she saw me at the door; there was such emotion on her
face, so much longing, and I felt it, too, more than she did.
I’ve been insane without her.
“Yeah, but the last time that we saw one another in that
apartment I was basically kicking you out.” I watch her face
change as my words remind her of what took place. I can
literally see the fucking wall rising up between us as she gives
me a fake smile. “I don’t know why I brought that up,” I say
and wipe my wrist across my forehead.
Her eyes move to another room; her room. Then turning to
the door we’re standing in front of, she says, “You can put
your stuff in here.”
Grabbing my bag from me, she heads inside and unzips it
on the bed. I watch as she pulls the wadded-up T-shirts and
boxers out of the bag and scrunches her nose.
“Are these clean?” she asks.
I shake my head. “The boxers are.”
She holds the bag at arm’s length. “I don’t even want to
know what the apartment looks like.”
The corners of her mouth lift into a smug smile. “Good
thing you won’t ever see it again, then,” I tease her. Her smile
fades.
What a shitty joke—what the fuck is wrong with me?
“I didn’t mean it that way,” I say quickly, desperate to
recover from my poor choice of words.
“It’s fine. Relax, okay?” Her voice is gentle. “It’s only me,
Hardin.”
“I know.” I take a deep breath and continue, “It just feels
like it’s been so fucking long, and we’re in that weird middle,
half-relationship shit that we are really shitty at. And we
haven’t seen each other, and I’ve just missed you, and I hope
you missed me, too.” Wow, I really said that all way too fast.
She smiles. “I did.”
“You did what?” I press for the exact words.
“I missed you. I told you that every day we’ve talked.”
“I know.” I step closer to her. “I just wanted to hear it
again.” I reach out and tuck her hair behind her ears, using
both hands, and she leans into me.
“When did you get here?” a small voice suddenly says, and
Tessa jumps away from me.
Great. Just fucking great.
And there’s Smith, standing in the doorway of Tessa’s new
bedroom.
“Just now,” I reply, hoping that he’ll leave the room so I
can continue what almost was started moments ago.
“Why did you come?” he asks and enters the room.
I point to Tessa, who is now more than five feet away from
me, pulling my clothes out of my bag and gathering them in
her arms. “I came to see her.”
“Oh,” he quietly replies, staring down at his feet.
“Do you not want me here?” I inquire.
“I don’t mind,” he says with a shrug, and I smile at him.
“Good, because I wouldn’t have left if you did.”
“I know.” Smith smiles back and leaves Tessa and me
alone. Thank fucking God.
“He likes you,” Tessa says.
“He’s okay.” I shrug, and she laughs.
“You like him, too,” she accuses.
“No, I don’t. I said simply: He’s okay.”
She rolls her eyes. “Suuuuure.”
She’s right, I do sort of like him. More than any other five-
year-old that I’ve ever met, at least.
“I’m watching him tonight while Kim and Christian go to a
club opening,” she says.
“Why aren’t you going along?”
“I don’t know, I just didn’t want to.”
“Hmm.” I pinch my lips between my fingers to hide my
smile from her. I’m thrilled that she didn’t want to go out, and
I find myself hoping that she’d planned on spending her
evening talking to me on the phone.
Tessa gives me a weird look. “You can go if you’d like; you
don’t have to stay in with me.”
I give her an indignant look. “What? I didn’t drive all this
way to go out to some shitty club without you. You don’t want
me to stay with you?”
Her eyes meet mine, and she presses my clothes to her
chest. “Yes, of course I want you to stay.”
“Good, because I wouldn’t have left if you didn’t,” I joke.
She doesn’t smile the way Smith did, but she does roll her
eyes, which is just as cute.
“Where are you going?” I ask when I notice her inching
toward the door with my things.
She gives me a look that’s both funny and sultry. “To do
your laundry,” she says, and disappears into the hall.
chapter eighty-eight
TESSA
My thoughts are racing as I start the washing machine.
Hardin came here, to Seattle—and I didn’t have to ask or beg
him. He came of his own accord. Even if it’s only for one
night, it means so much to me, and I hope that it will turn out
to be a step in the right direction for us. I’m still so conflicted
when it comes to our relationship . . . We always have so many
problems, so many pointless fights. We’re such different
people, and I’m at a point now where I’m not sure it will ever
work.
But right now, now that he’s here with me, I want nothing
more than to try this long-distance half relationship/half
friendship, and see where it takes us.
“I knew he’d show up,” Kimberly says from behind me.
When I turn around, I see her leaning against the doorframe
of the laundry room. “I didn’t,” I tell her.
She gives me an oh-please look. “You had to know he
would. I’ve never seen a couple like the two of you.”
I sigh. “We aren’t exactly a couple . . .”
“You ran into his arms like something out of a movie. He’s
been here for less than fifteen minutes, and you’re already
doing his laundry.” She nods to the machine.
“Well, his clothes are filthy,” I say, ignoring the first part of
her remark.
“You two just can’t stay away from one another; it’s really
something to watch. I do wish you were coming out tonight so
you could get dressed up and show him what he’s missing by
not being here in Seattle with you.” She winks and then leaves
me alone in the laundry room.
She’s right about Hardin and me not being able to stay
away from each other. It’s always been that way, since the day
I met him. Even when I tried to convince myself that I didn’t
want him, I couldn’t ignore the fluttering I felt inside me every
time we ran into each other.
Back then, Hardin always seemed to appear wherever I
was . . . Granted, I did go to his fraternity house every chance I
could. I hated it there, but something inside me drew me to the
place, knowing that if I went, I would see him. I didn’t admit it
then, not even to myself, but I longed for his company, even
when he was being cruel to me. The memories feel so ancient
and almost dreamlike as I recall the way he used to stare at me
during class, then roll his eyes when I said hello.
The washing machine makes a random little beep, bringing
me back to reality, and I hurry down the hallway to the guest
room that has been designated as Hardin’s for the night. The
room is empty; Hardin’s empty bag is still on the bed, but he’s
nowhere to be found. I walk across the hall and find him
standing over the desk in my room. His fingertips are tracing
the cover of one of my notebooks.
“What are you doing in here?” I ask.
“I just wanted to see where you’re . . . living now. I wanted
to see your room.”
“Oh.” I notice the way his brows pull together when he
calls it “my room.”
“Is this for a class?” he asks, holding up the black leather
notebook.
“It’s for creative writing.” I nod at him. “Did you read it?” I
can’t help but feel a little nervous at the thought that he may
have. I’ve only completed one assignment so far, but like
everything else in my life, it ended up relating to him.
“A little.”
“It’s just an assignment,” I say, fumbling to explain myself.
“We were asked to do a freestyle essay as the first assignment
and—”
“It’s good, really good,” he says, praising me, and places
the book back on the desk for a moment before picking it up
again and opening it to the first page. “ ‘Who I am.’ ” He reads
the first line out loud.
“Please don’t,” I beg.
He gives me a questioning little smirk. “Since when are you
shy about showing your schoolwork?”
“I’m not. It’s just . . . that piece is personal. I’m not even
sure if I want to turn it in.”
“I read your religion journal,” he says—and my heart stops.
“What?” I pray that I heard him wrong. He wouldn’t. He
couldn’t have read it . . .
“I read it. You left it at the apartment, and I found it.”
This is humiliating. I stand in silence while Hardin stares at
me from across the room. Those were private thoughts that I
never expected anyone to read, except my professor, maybe.
I’m mortified that Hardin pored over my deepest thoughts.
“You weren’t supposed to read those. Why would you?” I
ask, trying not to look at him.
“Every entry was about me,” he says by way of defending
himself.
“That’s not the point, Hardin.” My stomach is in my throat,
making it hard to breathe. “I was going through a really bad
time, and those were private thoughts for my journal. You
were never meant to—”
“They were really good, Tess. So good. It hurt me to read
the way you were feeling, but the words, what you had to say
—it was perfect.”
I know he’s trying to compliment me, but it only
embarrasses me further.
“How would you feel if I read something you wrote to
express your feelings in a private way?” I ignore the
compliments from him about my writing. His eyes flash with
panic, and I tilt my head in confusion. “What?”
“Nothing,” is all he says, shaking his head.
chapter eighty-nine
HARDIN
The look in her eyes almost makes me stop, but I have to be
honest, and I want her to know how interesting I found her
writing. “I’ve read it at least ten times,” I admit.
Her wide eyes don’t meet mine, but her lips part slightly
and she replies, “You have?”
“Don’t be ashamed. It’s only me, remember?” I smile at
her, and she steps closer to me.
“I know, but I probably sounded so pathetic. I wasn’t
thinking clearly when I was writing them.”
I press my fingers against her lips to silence her. “No, you
didn’t. They were brilliant.”
“I . . .” She tries to speak beneath my fingers, and I press
them harder.
“Are you done yet?” I grin at her, and she nods. Slowly, I
remove my fingers from her lips, and her tongue darts out to
wet them. I can’t help but stare.
“I have to kiss you,” I whisper, our faces mere inches apart.
Her eyes look into mine, and she swallows loudly before
licking her lips again.
“Okay,” she whispers back to me. Her hands are greedy as
she wraps her fists around the fabric of my shirt. She pulls me
closer, her breathing heavy.
Just before our lips can connect, a knock sounds at the
bedroom door. “Tessa?” Kimberly’s high-pitched voice calls
through the half-open door.
“Get rid of her,” I whisper, and Tessa backs away from me.
First the kid, now his mom. We might as well invite Vance
to join as well.
“We’re leaving in a few minutes,” Kimberly says without
coming in.
Good for you. Now get the fuck out of here . . .
“Okay—I’ll be right out,” Tessa responds, and my irritation
grows.
“Thanks, hon,” Kimberly says and walks off, humming
some pop song.
“I shouldn’t have even fucking—” I begin.
When Tessa looks over at me, I stop myself from finishing
my rude remark. It wasn’t true, anyway . . . nothing could keep
me from wanting to be here right now.
“I have to go out there now, to watch Smith. If you want to
stay in here, you can.”
“No, I want to be wherever you are,” I tell her, and she
smiles.
Fuck, I want to kiss her. I’ve missed her so much, and she
says she’s missed me, too . . . Why doesn’t she just . . . Her
hands wrap around the top of my black T-shirt, and she presses
her lips against mine. I feel as if someone has plugged me into
an electrical outlet, every fiber of me igniting and buzzing.
Her tongue enters my mouth, pressing and caressing, and I
wrap my hands around her hips.
I pull her across the room until my feet hit the footboard of
the bed. I lie back, and she falls gently on top of me. Wrapping
her body into my arms, I turn us over so her body is under
mine. I can feel her pulse hammering under my lips as they
slide down her neckline and back up to the sweet spot just
under her ear. Gasps and quiet moans are my reward. Slowly, I
begin what I know are torturing movements, grinding my hips
against hers, pressing her into the mattress. Tessa’s fingers
move to touch the heated skin under my T-shirt, and her nails
rake down my back. As I bring her earlobe between my lips—
The image of Zed thrusting into her flashes through my
mind, and I’m on my feet within seconds.
“What’s wrong?” she asks. Her lips are deep pink and
swollen from my gentle assault.
“I-it’s, it’s nothing. We should . . . um . . . go out there.
Take care of the little shit,” I respond frantically.
“Hardin,” she presses.
“Tessa, let it go. It’s nothing.” Oh, you know, just that I
dreamed of Zed fucking you practically through to the other
side of our mattress, and now I can’t stop picturing it.
“Okay.” She lifts herself from the bed and wipes her hands
against the soft material of her pajamas.
I close my eyes for a moment, trying to rid my mind of the
disgusting images. If that poser asshole interrupts another
second of my time with Tessa, I’ll break every bone in his
goddamned body.
chapter ninety
TESSA
After too many kisses for Smith’s liking, Kimberly and Vance
finally leave. Each of the three times they reminded us they
were only a phone call away in case there’s trouble, Hardin
and Smith rolled their eyes dramatically. When she pointed to
the list of emergency numbers on the kitchen counter, they
shared a little, cute look of disbelief.
“What do you want to watch?” I ask Smith once their car is
out of sight.
He shrugs from where he’s sitting on the couch and looks
up at Hardin, who looks down at the kid like he’s an amusing
little ferret or something.
“Okay . . . What about a game—do you want to play a
game or something?” I suggest when neither of them speaks.
“No,” Smith replies.
“I think he just wants to go back to his room and do
whatever the hell he was doing before Kim dragged him out
here,” Hardin says, and Smith nods curtly in agreement.
“Well . . . okay, then. You can go back to your room, Smith.
Hardin and I will be out here if you need anything. I’ll be
ordering dinner soon,” I tell him.
“Can you come with me, Hardin?” Smith asks in the softest
tone possible.
“To your room? No, I’m good.”
Without a word, Smith climbs down from the couch and
walks over to the stairs. I shoot a glare at Hardin, and he
shrugs his shoulders. “What?”
“Go to his room with him,” I whisper.
“I don’t want to go to his room. I want to be out here with
you,” he says matter-of-factly. As much as I want Hardin to
stay with me, I feel bad for Smith.
“Come on.” I nod to the blond boy as he slowly ascends the
steps. “He’s lonely.”
“Dammit, fine.” Hardin groans and sulks across the living
room to follow Smith up the stairs. I’m still a little bothered by
his odd reaction to our kiss in the bedroom. I thought it was
going great—better than great—but he climbed off me so
abruptly that I thought he’d been injured. Maybe after being
away from me for so long he doesn’t feel the same? Maybe
he’s not as attracted to me . . . sexually, as he once was. I know
that I’m dressed in baggy pajamas, but he never had a problem
with them before.
Unable to come up with any reasonable explanation for his
behavior, instead of letting my imagination run wild, I grab the
small stack of takeout pamphlets that Kimberly left for us so
we could figure out what to order for dinner. I decide on pizza,
and grab my phone before going into the laundry room. I place
Hardin’s clothes in the dryer and sit on the bench in the center
of the room. I call for the pizza and wait while watching the
machine turn around and around.
chapter ninety-one
HARDIN
As Smith walks around his bedroom, I stand in the doorway
and take a mental inventory of all the shit this kid has. Man,
he’s spoiled as hell.
“What do you want to do?” I ask the kid as I step into the
room.
“I don’t know.” He stares at the wall. His blond hair is
combed to one side so perfectly it’s almost creepy.
“Then why did you want me to come up here?”
“I don’t know,” the little shit repeats. Stubborn little fucker.
“Okay . . . well, this isn’t going anywhere . . .” I trail off.
“Are you living here now, too, with your girl?” Smith
suddenly blurts.
“No, only visiting for tonight,” I say and look away from
the kid.
“Why?” His eyes home in on me. I can feel them without
even glancing his way.
“Because I don’t want to live here.” I do, though. Sort of.
“Why? You don’t like her?” he questions.
“Yes. I like her.” I laugh. “I just . . . I don’t know. Why do
you always ask me so many questions?”
“I don’t know,” he responds simply and pulls some sort of
train set from under his bed.
“Don’t you have any friends you can play with?” I ask the
boy.
“No.”
That doesn’t seem right. He’s an all-right kid. “Why not?”
He shrugs and disconnects a piece of the train track. His
small hands disconnect another piece, and he switches the
metal out with two new tracks from a box at the end of his
bed.
“I’m sure you can make friends at school.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Are the kids assholes to you or something?” I ask him. I
don’t bother to correct my language. Vance has the mouth of a
fucking sailor, and I’m sure his son has heard worse.
“Sometimes.” He twists the edges of some type of wire and
connects a small train car to it. The wire sparks in his hands,
but he doesn’t flinch. Within seconds, the train begins to move
around the track, starting slowly and then gradually picking up
speed.
“What was that, that you just did?” I ask him.
“Made it go faster; it was really slow.”
“No wonder you don’t have any friends.” I laugh, but then I
catch myself. Shit. He’s just sitting there, staring at his train. “I
just meant because you’re so smart; sometimes smart people
are terrible at being social, and no one likes them. Like Tessa,
for example—she’s too smart sometimes, and it makes people
feel uncomfortable.”
“Okay . . .” He looks over and begins staring at me, and I
can’t help but feel bad for him. I’m shit at giving advice, and I
don’t know why I even tried.
I know what it’s like to grow up not having any friends. As
a child, I never had a single one until I hit puberty and started
drinking, smoking pot, and hanging out with shitty people.
They weren’t actually my friends, anyway—they only liked
me because I did whatever the fuck I wanted to do, and that
was “cool” to them. They didn’t enjoy reading the way that I
did; they only enjoyed partying.
I was always that angry little boy in the corner whom no
one talked to because they were afraid of me. To this day, that
hasn’t changed much, really . . .
But I met Tessa; she’s the only person who genuinely gives
a fuck about me. She’s afraid of me sometimes, too, though.
Images from Christmas and red wine splattered across her
white cardigan bring my thoughts to life. I suspect that Landon
cares for me, too, I guess. But that’s still a weird situation with
him, and I’m pretty sure he only cares because of Tessa. She
tends to have that power over people.
Me, especially.
chapter ninety-two
TESSA
Is your pizza good?” I ask Smith from across the table.
He looks up at me, mouth full, and nods his head yes. His
small hands are holding a fork and knife to cut into his meal.
This doesn’t surprise me.
When his plate is clear, he stands from the table and walks
his dishes to the dishwasher, placing them inside. “I’m going
to retire for the night. I’m ready for bed,” the little scientist
announces.
Hardin shakes his head in amusement over the maturity of
the kid.
I stand up and ask, “Do you need anything? Water, or to be
walked to your room?”
But he declines and grabs his blanket from the couch before
heading up to his bedroom.
I watch Smith disappear upstairs, then sit back down and
realize that Hardin has spoken less than ten words to me in the
last hour. He’s kept his distance, and I can’t help but find
myself comparing his behavior tonight to the way he spoke
during our phone calls this week. A small part of me wishes
we were on the phone now instead of sitting silently on the
couch.
“I have to piss,” he announces, then heads off as I surf
through the channels on the flat-screen TV.
Moments later Kimberly and Christian come through the
front door, followed by another couple. A tall blond woman
dressed in a short gold dress saunters across the hardwood
floor. I take one glance at her sky-high heels, and my ankles
start to ache for her. She gives me a smile and a wave as she
follows Kimberly through the foyer and into the living room.
Hardin appears in the hallway but doesn’t make a move to
enter the room.
“Sasha, this is Tessa and Hardin,” Kimberly kindly
introduces us.
“It’s nice to meet you.” I smile, hating that I didn’t put on
better-looking pajamas.
“You, too,” Sasha responds, but she’s looking directly to
Hardin, who looks back at her for a moment but doesn’t
otherwise greet her or come fully into the living room.
“Sasha is a friend of Christian’s business partner,”
Kimberly informs us.
Well, informs me, because Hardin isn’t paying them any
attention, having fixed his eyes on the wildlife program I
ended up landing on.
“And this is Max, who does business with Christian.”
The man, who had been joking and laughing with Christian,
steps around from behind Sasha, and when I finally get a look
at him, I’m surprised to see Ken’s friend from college, that girl
Lillian’s father.
“Max,” I repeat, discreetly staring at Hardin and trying to
draw his attention to the familiar face in front of us.
Catching on, Kimberly looks back and forth between Max
and me. “You two have met before?”
“Only once, at Sand Point,” I respond.
Max’s dark eyes are intimidating, and he has an
overpowering presence that immediately claims the room as
his, but his cold features do soften slightly at my reminder.
“Ah, yes. You’re Hardin Scott’s . . . friend,” he says,
drawing the last word out with a smile.
“Actually, she’s . . .” Hardin starts, finally joining us in the
living room.
I watch in annoyance as Sasha’s eyes follow Hardin’s every
movement as he crosses the room. She adjusts the golden
straps of her dress and licks her lips. I couldn’t be more
irritated with myself for wearing these damn cloud pants if I
tried. Hardin’s eyes flicker to her, and I watch as they slowly
rake down her body, taking in her tall yet curvy frame, before
his attention turns to Max.
“She’s not just a friend,” Hardin finishes just as Max’s hand
darts out for a quick and awkward handshake.
“I see.” The older man smiles. “Well, either way, she’s a
lovely girl.”
“She is,” Hardin mutters. I can sense his annoyance at
Max’s presence.
Kimberly, the perfect hostess as always, walks over to the
bar and gathers glasses for their guests. She politely takes
drink orders while I try not to stare at Sasha as she introduces
herself to Hardin for the second time. He gives her a brisk nod
and sits down on the couch. A pang of disappointment hits me
when he leaves a large space between us. Why do I feel so
clingy all of a sudden? Is it because Sasha is so beautiful, or is
it the way that Hardin’s eyes traveled down her body, or how
weird he’s been all night?
“How’s Lillian?” I ask to break the awkwardness and the
tension and the aching jealousy that’s stirring inside of me.
“She’s fine. She’s been busy with university,” he coolly
states.
Kimberly hands him a glass of brown liquor, and he gulps
half of it down within seconds.
He raises his brow to Christian. “Bourbon?”
“Only the best,” Christian responds with a grin.
“You should call Lillian up sometime. You’d be a good
influence on her.” Max’s eyes move to Hardin.
“I don’t think she needs any influence,” I retort. I didn’t
care much for Lillian, due to my jealousy, but I feel a strong
need to defend her against her father. I can’t help but think that
he’s referring to her sexual orientation, and that bothers me
immensely.
“Oh, I beg to differ.” He smiles a bleached-white smile, and
I sink back against the couch cushions. This whole exchange
has been uncomfortable. Max is charming and rich, but I can’t
ignore the darkness that lurks within his deep brown eyes and
the hidden malice in his wide smile.
Why is he here with Sasha, anyway? He’s a married man,
and by the short cut of her dress and the way she smiles at
him, they don’t appear to be only on “friend”-ly terms.
“Lillian is our regular sitter!” Kimberly chimes in.
“Small world.” Hardin rolls his eyes so as to appear as
uninterested as possible, but I know he’s fuming.
“It is, isn’t it.” Max grins at Hardin. His British accent is
thicker than either Hardin’s or Christian’s, and not nearly as
pleasant to listen to.
“Tessa, go upstairs,” Hardin quietly instructs me. Max and
Kimberly both look at him, making it known that they heard
his command.
This situation is even more awkward now than it was only
seconds ago. Now that everyone’s heard Hardin tell me to go
upstairs, I definitely don’t want to oblige. However, I know
Hardin, and know that he’ll make sure I get upstairs, whether
he has to carry me or not.
“I think she should stay and have some wine, or a shot of
this bourbon. It’s aged and very good,” Kimberly says as she
rises to her feet and pads over to the little bar. “Which will it
be?” She smiles, clearly defying Hardin.
He glares at her and presses his lips into a thin, hard line. I
want to laugh at the way Kimberly is challenging Hardin, or
leave the room—preferably both—but Max is watching our
exchange with more curiosity than seems necessary, and I stay
put.
“I’ll have a glass of wine,” I say.
Kimberly nods, pours the white liquid into a long-stemmed
glass, and brings it to me.
The space between Hardin and me seems to be growing by
the second, and I can practically see the heat rolling off him in
small waves. I take a small sip of the crisp wine, and Max
finally looks away from me.
Hardin is staring at the wall. His mood has drastically
changed since we kissed, and that really worries me. I thought
he’d be excited, happy, and most of all, I thought he’d be
turned on and want more, the way he always does, the way I
do.
“Do you two live here, in Seattle?” Sasha asks Hardin.
I take another sip of wine. I’ve been drinking a lot lately.
“I don’t.” He doesn’t look at her as he answers.
“Hmm, where is it that you live?”
“Not in Seattle.”
If this conversation were happening in any other
circumstance, I would scold him for being so rude, but right
now I’m happy that he is. Sasha frowns and leans against Max.
He looks at me before gently guiding her in the opposite
direction.
I already know you’re having an affair, so don’t play coy
now.
Sasha stays quiet, and Kimberly looks to Christian for help
to turn the conversation to more pleasant matters. “Well . . .”
Christian clears his throat. “The club opening was great; who
knew we’d have such a turnout?”
“It was brilliant, that band . . . I can’t recall the name, but
the last one . . .” Max begins.
“The Reford something . . . ?” Kimberly suggests.
“No, that wasn’t it, love.” Christian chuckles, and Kimberly
walks over to sit on his lap.
“Well, whoever they are, we need to get them booked for
next weekend, too,” Max says.
Within minutes of the start of their business talk, Hardin
turns and disappears down the hallway . . .
“He’s usually more polite,” Kimberly tells Sasha.
“No, he’s not. But we wouldn’t have him any other way.”
Christian laughs, and the rest of the room joins in.
“I’m going to . . .” I begin.
“Go on.” Kimberly waves me off, and I give a small good
night wave to the guests. By the time I reach the end of the
hallway, Hardin is already in the guest room and has closed
the door. I hesitate outside of the room for a moment before
turning the knob and pushing the door open. When I finally
enter, Hardin is pacing back and forth across the length of the
room.
“Is something wrong?” I ask him.
“No.”
“Are you sure, because you’ve been weird ever since—”
“I’m fine. I’m just irritated.” He sits down at the edge of the
bed and rubs his palms against the knees of his jeans.
I love his new jeans. I recognize them from our—his—
closet at the apartment. Trish got them for him for Christmas,
and he hated them.
“And why’s that?” I quietly ask, making sure to keep my
voice from traveling down the hall and into the living room.
“Max is a prick,” Hardin booms. He clearly doesn’t care if
he’s heard.
Laughing, I whisper, “Yeah, he is.”
“He was just asking for me to lose my shit when he was
being rude to you,” he breaths.
“He wasn’t being rude to me, specifically. I think that’s just
his personality.” I shrug my shoulders, a gesture that doesn’t
really calm Hardin.
“Well, either way, I don’t fucking like him, and it’s
annoying that we have one night together and it’s with a full
house.” Hardin brushes his hair back from his forehead and
grabs a pillow to lie back on.
“I know.” I agree. I hope Max and his mistress leave soon.
“I hate that he’s cheating on his wife. Denise seemed so nice.”
“I don’t give a shit about that, really. I just don’t like him,”
Hardin says.
I’m a little surprised by his immediate brushing off such a
betrayal. “Don’t you feel bad for her? Even a little bit? I’m
sure she has no idea about Sasha.”
He waves his hand in the air and then tucks his arm behind
his head. “I’m sure she knows. Max is an asshole. She can’t be
that stupid.”
I picture Max’s wife sitting in a mansion in the hills
somewhere, wearing an expensive dress, full hair and makeup,
waiting for her unfaithful husband to return home. The thought
saddens me, and the best I can hope for is that she has a
“friend,” too.
The thought surprises me that I would wish for her to do the
same thing back to him, but her husband is in the wrong here,
and though I barely know her, I want her to find some
happiness, even if it’s not exactly the best decision.
“Either way, it’s still wrong,” I insist.
“Yeah, but that’s marriage for you. Cheating, lying, so on
and so on.”
“That’s not always the case.”
“Nine times out of ten.” He shrugs. I hate the way he views
marriage so negatively.
“No, that’s not true.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“You’re going to argue with me over marriage, again? I
don’t think we should go there,” he warns. His eyes meet
mine, and he takes a deep breath.
I want to battle this out with him, tell him that he’s wrong
and change his view on marriage, but I know it’s pointless.
Hardin made up his mind about such things long before he met
me.
“You’re right, we shouldn’t talk about this. Especially when
you’re already wound up.”
“I’m not wound up,” he scoffs.
“Okay.” I roll my eyes at him, and he rises to his feet.
“Stop rolling your eyes at me,” he snaps.
I can’t help but roll my eyes, again.
“Tessa . . .” he growls.
I stand still, unmoving and unwavering. He has no reason to
be short with me. Max’s being a pompous jerk is in no way my
fault. This is a typical Hardin Scott tantrum, and I’m not
caving this time.
“You’re only here for one night, remember?” I remind him
and watch as the hardness and energy slip from his features.
He continues to watch me, though, expecting a fight. I’m not
giving him one.
“Dammit, you’re right. I’m sorry,” he finally sighs,
impressing me with this sudden change in his mood and his
ability to calm himself down. “Come here.” He opens his
arms, the way Hardin always does, and I walk into them, the
way I haven’t for so long. He doesn’t say anything; he only
wraps his arms around me and rests his chin on top of my
head. His scent is overpowering, his breathing has slowed
since his little hissy fit, and he is warm, so warm. Seconds, or
maybe minutes later, he pulls away from me and presses his
thumb under my chin.
“I’m sorry for being a dick. I don’t know what my problem
was. Max just bugs the shit out of me, or maybe it was the
babysitting, or that obnoxious Stacey. I don’t know, but I’m
sorry.”
“Sasha.” I correct him with a smile.
“Same thing—a whore is a whore is a whore.”
“Hardin!” I gently swat at his chest. The muscles
underneath feel harder than I remember. He’s been working
out daily . . . briefly, my thoughts travel to what he looks like
under his black T-shirt, and I wonder if his body has changed
since I last laid eyes on it.
“Just saying.” He shrugs and brushes his fingertips over the
soft line of my jaw. “I really am sorry. I don’t want to ruin my
time with you. Forgive me?”
His cheeks flush, and his voice is so soft, and his fingertips
are gently scraping against my skin, and it feels so good. My
eyes flutter closed as he traces the outline of my lips with his
thumb.
“Answer me,” he softly presses.
“I always do, don’t I?” I say with a breath. I rest both of my
hands on his hips, my thumbs pressing into the bare skin under
his T-shirt. I expect to feel his lips on mine, but when I open
my eyes, his guard has been drawn up. I hesitate, but ask, “Is
something wrong?”
“I had . . .” He stops midsentence. “I have a headache.”
“Do you need something? I can ask Kim if—”
“No, not her. I think I just need to sleep or something. It’s
late, anyway.”
My heart sinks at his words. What is going on with him,
and why doesn’t he want to kiss me again? Only moments ago
he told me that he didn’t want to ruin our short time together,
yet now he wants to go to sleep?
I sigh out a quiet “Okay.” I’m not going to beg Hardin to
stay awake and spend time with me. I’m embarrassed by his
rejection, and honestly I do need a moment alone without his
minty breath fanning across my cheeks and his green eyes
piercing into mine, clouding the smidge of judgment I have
left.
Still, I linger a little, waiting for him to ask if he can sleep
in my room or vice versa.
He doesn’t. “I’ll see you in the morning, then?” he asks.
“Yeah, sure.” I leave the room before I embarrass myself
further and lock my bedroom door behind me. Pathetically, I
pad back across the room and unlock the door, hoping that
maybe, just maybe, he will come through it.
chapter ninety-three
HARDIN
Fuck.
Fuck.
I have been containing my anger, for the most part at least,
all week. It’s becoming harder and harder to do so when Zed
keeps creeping his way into my head, and it’s driving me
fucking mad. I know I’m batshit crazy for obsessing over this,
and I have no doubt Tessa would agree if I told her why I’m so
wound up. It’s not only Zed, it’s Max and his mocking tone
with Tessa, his whore and her gawking at me, Kimberly
challenging me when I told Tessa to go upstairs—it’s all one
big fucking annoyance, and my control is slipping. I can feel
my nerves being tightened to the brink of snapping, and the
only way to relax them is to punch something or bury myself
into Tessa and forget about everything; but I can’t even
fucking do that. I should be sinking myself inside of her right
now, over and over until the goddamned sun comes up, to
make up for the last week of hell without her touch.
Leave it to me to fuck this night up. I’m sure she’s not
surprised, though. It’s what I do without fail, every time.
I lie down on the bed and stare back and forth between the
ceiling and the clock. Eventually it’s two in the morning. The
annoying voices from the living room halted over an hour ago,
and I was glad to hear the sounds of fawning goodbyes and
then Vance and Kim’s footsteps coming up the stairs.
From across the hall, I feel it. I feel the pull, the fucking
magnetic charge, drawing me to Tessa and begging me to be at
her side. Ignoring the overwhelming electricity, I climb out of
the bed and change into the clean black shorts that Tessa has
folded and placed on the dresser. I know Vance has a gym in
this massive house somewhere. I need to find it before I lose
what’s left of my fucking mind.
chapter ninety-four
TESSA
I can’t sleep. I’ve tried to close my eyes and block out the
world, leave the chaos and stress of the mess that is my love
life, but I can’t. It’s impossible. It’s impossible to fight the
irresistible power that draws me to Hardin’s room, that begs
me to be near him. He’s being so distant, and I have to know
why. I have to know if he’s behaving this way because of
something I did, or because of something I didn’t do. I have to
know that it had nothing to do with Sasha and her tiny gold
dress, or Hardin losing interest in me.
I have to know.
Hesitantly, I climb out of the bed and tug on the small cord
to bring the lamp to life. I pull the thin band from around my
wrist and gather my hair into my hands, pulling it into a
ponytail. As quietly as possible, I tiptoe across the hall and
slowly turn the handle on the guest room door. It opens with a
low creak, and I’m surprised to find the lamp on and the bed
empty. A pile of black sheets and blankets are pushed against
the edge of the bed, but Hardin isn’t in the room.
My heart sinks at the thought that he’s left Seattle and gone
back home—to his home. I know things were awkward
between us, but we should be able to talk about whatever it
happens to be that is weighing on Hardin’s mind. Scanning the
room, I’m relieved to see his bag still on the floor, the piles of
clean and folded clothes knocked over, but at least still there.
I’ve loved seeing the changes in Hardin since his arrival
only hours ago. He’s been sweeter, calmer, and he actually
apologized to me without me having to pull the words from
him. Regardless of the fact that he’s being cold and distant
right now, I can’t ignore the changes that a week apart seems
to have made and the positive impact that the distance between
us has had on him.
I quietly pad down the hallway in search of him. The house
is dark, the only light coming from small night-lights lined
along the floor of the halls. The bathrooms, living room, and
kitchen are empty, and I don’t hear a single noise coming from
upstairs. He has to be upstairs, though . . . maybe he’s in the
library?
I keep my fingers crossed that I don’t wake anyone during
my search, and just as I close the door to the dark and empty
library, I see a thin line of light creeping from the door at the
end of the long corridor. During my brief stay here, I haven’t
made it to this part of the house, though I think Kimberly had
vaguely indicated that this is where the theater and the gym
are. Apparently, Christian spends hours in the gym.
The door is unlocked, and I push it open with ease. I feel a
momentary spark of worry as I entertain the idea that it’s
Christian, not Hardin, who’s in the room. That would be
incredibly awkward, and I pray it isn’t the case.
All four walls of the room are mirrored from floor to
ceiling and lined with large, intimidating machines, a treadmill
being the only recognizable one. Weights and more weights
cover the far wall, and most of the floor is padded. My eyes
move to the mirrored walls, and my insides liquefy at the sight
of them. Hardin—four Hardins, actually—are reflected in the
mirrors. He’s shirtless, and his movements are aggressively
quick. His hands are wrapped in the same black tape that I’ve
seen on Christian’s each day this week.
Hardin’s back is to me, his hard muscles straining under
pale skin as he lifts his foot to kick the large black bag hanging
from the ceiling. His fist strikes out next; a loud thud follows
his movement, and he repeats it with the other fist. I watch as
he continues to punch and kick the bag; he looks so angry, and
hot, and sweaty, and I can barely think straight as I watch him.
With swift movements, he hits with his left leg, then his
right, and then both fists smash into the bag with such fluidity,
it’s incredible to watch. His skin is shining and covered in
sweat, and his chest and stomach look slightly different than
before, more defined. He simply looks . . . larger. The metal
chain attached to the ceiling looks like it’s going to snap from
the force of Hardin’s aggression. My mouth is dry, and my
thoughts are sluggish as I watch him and listen to the angry
groans that escape as he begins using only his fists against the
bag.
I don’t know if it’s the soft moan that falls from my lips at
watching him, or if he somehow felt my presence, but he
suddenly stops. The bag continues to sway on its chain, and
while keeping his eyes on me, Hardin reaches out one hand to
stop it.
I don’t want to be the first to speak, but he gives me no
choice as he continues to stare at me with wide and angry
eyes.
“Hey,” I say, my voice hoarse and tiny.
His chest rises and falls rapidly. “Hi,” he says, panting.
“What, um”—I try to contain myself—“what are you
doing?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” he breathes heavily. “What’re you doing
up?” He gathers his black T-shirt from the floor and wipes the
moisture from his face. I gulp. I can’t seem to find the strength
to look away from his sweat-soaked body.
“Um, same as you. Couldn’t sleep.” I smile weakly, and my
eyes flicker to his toned torso, the muscles moving in sync
with his hard breaths.
He nods; his eyes don’t meet mine, and I can’t help but ask,
“Did I do something? If I did, we could just talk about it and
work it out.”
“No, you didn’t do anything.”
“Then tell me what’s wrong, please, Hardin. I need to know
what’s going on.” I gather as much confidence as I can
manage. “Do you . . . never mind.” The ounce of confidence I
had slips away under his stare.
“Do I what?” He sits down on a long black cushion, which
I think is some sort of weight bench. After wiping the T-shirt
over his face again, he wraps it around his head, restraining his
dampened mess of hair.
The impromptu headband is oddly endearing and very
attractive, so much so that I find myself fumbling for words.
“I’m just beginning to wonder if maybe, possibly, you . . .
you’re starting to not like me as much as you did.” The
question sounded much better inside of my head. When said
out loud, it sounds pathetic and needy.
“What?” He drops his hands onto his knees. “What are you
talking about?”
“Are you still as attracted to me . . . physically?” I ask. I
wouldn’t feel so ashamed or insecure if he hadn’t rejected me
earlier tonight. That, and if Ms. Long Legs Short Dress hadn’t
been fawning over him right in front of me. Not to mention the
way his eyes lingered as they slowly took in her body . . .
“What . . . where is this coming from?” As his chest rises
and falls, the sparrows inked just under his collarbone appear
to be fluttering along with his breathing.
“Well . . .” Although I take a few steps farther into the
room, I make sure to leave a few feet between Hardin and me.
“Earlier . . . when we were kissing . . . you stopped, and
you’ve barely touched me since, and then you just up and went
to bed.”
“You actually think that I’m not attracted to you anymore?”
He opens his mouth to continue but suddenly closes it again
and sits silently.
“It has crossed my mind,” I admit. The padded flooring has
suddenly become fascinating as I stare down at it.
“That is fucking insane,” he begins. “Look at me.” My eyes
meet his, and he sighs deeply before continuing. “I can’t begin
to fathom why you would ever consider the notion that I’m not
attracted to you, Tessa.” He seems to think over his response
and adds, “Well, I guess I can see why you would think that
because of how I acted earlier, but it’s not true; that literally
could not be further from the fucking truth.”
The ache in my chest slowly begins to dissolve. “Then what
is it?”
“You’re going to think I’m fucking morbid.”
Oh no.
“Why? Tell me, please,” I beg him. I watch as frustrated
fingers run over the slight stubble on his chin; it’s barely there,
probably only a day’s worth of not shaving.
“Just hear me out before you get mad, okay?”
I nod slowly, an action that completely contradicts the
paranoid thoughts that are beginning to flutter through me.
“I had this dream, well, nightmare, actually . . .”
My chest tightens, and I pray that it’s not as bad as he’s
making it out to be. Half of me is relieved that he’s upset over
a nightmare, not an actual event, but the other half aches for
him. He’s been alone all week, and it hurts to know that his
nightmares have returned.
“Go on,” I gently encourage him.
“About you . . . and Zed.”
Oh boy. “What do you mean?” I ask.
“He was at our—my—apartment, and I came home to find
him in between your legs. You were moaning his name and—”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I say, raising a hand to stop him.
The pained expression on his face compels me to keep my
hand up for a few seconds to keep him silent, but then he says,
“No, let me tell you.”
I’m extremely uncomfortable about having to listen to
Hardin talk about Zed and me in bed, but if he feels like he
needs to tell me—if telling me will help him work it out—I’ll
bite my tongue and listen.
“He was on top of you, fucking you, in our bed. You said
that you loved him.” He grimaces.
All of this tension and all of Hardin’s strange and awkward
behavior since he came to Seattle stemmed from a dream he
had about me and Zed? At least this helps explain his middle-
of-the-night demand last night that I call Zed and take back the
invitation to visit me in Seattle that I agreed to.
As I stare across the room at the green-eyed, grief-stricken
man with his face resting on his hands, my earlier paranoia
and frustration dissolve like sugar on my tongue.
chapter ninety-five
HARDIN
When my name escapes her lips, it comes out on a breath,
soft, her tongue caressing the word. As if in saying that one
word she’s summed up all of her feelings for me, all of the
times I’ve touched her, all of the times she’s proved that she
loves me—even if part of me still can’t believe it.
Tessa walks closer, and I can see the sympathetic look in
her eyes. “Why didn’t you just tell me earlier?” she asks.
I look down and pick at the thick tape wrapped around my
hands.
“It was only a dream. You know something like that would
never actually happen,” she says.
When I look up at her, the pressure in my eyes, in my chest,
is unrelenting. “It’s stuck in my head—I can’t stop it from
replaying it. He was fucking taunting me the entire time,
smirking as he fucked you.”
Tessa’s small hands quickly move to cover her ears, and she
crinkles her nose in displeasure. Then, looking up at me, she
drops her arms slowly. “Why do you think you had that
dream?”
“I don’t know, probably because you agreed to let him visit
you here.”
“I didn’t know what else to say, and we were . . . well, we
still are, in that weird place,” she mutters.
“I don’t want him near you. I know it’s fucked up, but I
don’t give a shit. Honestly, Zed is the line for me; it will
always be that way. No amount of kickboxing will change
that. Weird place or not, you are only for me. Not just sexually,
but entirely. I can’t stand you being in any sort of emotional
relationship with that guy.”
“He hasn’t been near me since he took me to my mother’s
house . . . that night,” she reminds me.
But the panic burning inside of me doesn’t budge. I look
down, breathe in and out deeply to try to calm myself down a
little.
“But”—she takes a step closer, though she remains just out
of reach—“if it will make you stop thinking these things, I’ll
tell him not to visit.”
My eyes dart to her beautiful face. “You will?” I expected
more of a fight from her.
“Yes, I will. I don’t want it weighing on you like this.” With
nervous eyes, she looks down at my chest and back up to my
face.
“Come here.” I lift one bandaged hand to beckon her.
Because her feet are moving too slowly, I lean up and grab
hold of her arm, wrapping my hand around her elbow to bring
her to me more quickly.
My breathing has yet to return to normal. I have all this
adrenaline rushing through my body. I couldn’t help but beat
the shit out of that damn bag, but my hands and feet are aching
—I still haven’t released all of my anger. There’s something
inside my head, just sitting in the back of my mind, nagging at
me, not allowing me to release my grudge against Zed.
That is, until her lips are on mine. She surprises me by
pushing her tongue into my mouth and wrapping her small
hands into my sweat-soaked hair, tugging hard, pulling the
rolled-up T-shirt from around my head and tossing it onto the
floor.
“Tessa . . .” I gently push against her chest and remove my
mouth from hers. As I sit down on the weight bench, I see her
eyes narrow at me.
She doesn’t speak as she moves to stand in front of me. “I
won’t put up with you rejecting me because of a dream,
Hardin. If you don’t want me, then that’s fine, but this is
bullshit,” she says through her teeth.
As twisted as it is, her anger stirs something inside of me,
causing my blood to flow straight to my dick. I’ve wanted this
woman since the last time I was inside of her, and now here
she is, wanting me—and getting frustrated that I’m stopping
her from taking what she wants.
Hearing her come over the phone would never be good
enough; I need to feel it.
A war is being fought within me. With the wild energy still
pumping through my veins like fire, I finally say, “I can’t help
it, Tessa, I know it doesn’t make sense—”
“Fuck me, then,” she says, and my mouth falls open. “You
should just fuck me until you forget about that dream, because
you’re here for one night, and I’ve missed you, but you’re too
stuck on imagining me with Zed to even give me the attention
that I want.”
“The attention that you want?” I can’t help the harshness of
my tone as I hear her ridiculous and untrue words. She has no
idea how many times I’ve fucked my own hand, pretending it
was her, imagining her voice in my ear telling me how much
she needs me, how much she loves me.
“Yes, Hardin. That. I. Want.”
“What is it exactly that you want?” I ask her. Her gaze is
hard and slightly unnerving.
“I want you to spend time with me without obsessing over
Zed, I want you to touch me and kiss me without pulling away.
That, Hardin, is what I want.” She scowls and places her hands
on her hips. “I want you to touch me—only you,” she adds,
relaxing her stance by a fraction.
Her words, reassuring and flattering, begin to push the
paranoid thoughts from my mind, and I begin to to realize just
how stupid this whole ordeal we’re going through really is.
She’s mine, not his. He’s sitting alone somewhere, and I’m
here with her—and she wants me. I can’t keep my eyes off her
pouty lips, her angry glare, the soft curve of her tits just under
the thin white T-shirt. The T-shirt that should be, but isn’t, one
of mine. Which is another result of my stubbornness.
Tessa closes the remaining distance between us, and my
somewhat shy—yet very fucking dirty—girl is looking at me,
expecting a reply as her hand moves to my shoulder and
pushes me back just enough for her to climb onto my lap.
Fuck this. I don’t give a shit about some stupid fucking
dream or our stupid fucking rule about distance. All I want is
her and me, me and her: Tessa and the mess that is fucking
Hardin.
Her lips find their way to my neck, and my fingertips press
into her hips. No matter how many times I imagined it
throughout the week, no fantasy will ever compare to her
tongue skimming across my damp collarbone and up to that
fucking spot just under my ear.
“Lock the door,” I instruct as her teeth softly sink into my
skin and she grinds her hips down against me. I’m rock
fucking hard against her ridiculous fluffy fucking pants, and I
need her now.
I ignore the aching throb between my legs as she climbs off
me and hurries across the room to do as I said. I don’t waste a
goddamn second when she returns. Her pants are pushed down
her thighs, and her black panties follow, pooling around her
ankles on the padded floor.
“I’ve been tortured all week, thinking about how you look
when you’re like this,” I groan, my eyes drinking in every
fucking detail of her half-naked body. “So beautiful,” I say
with awe.
When she pulls her T-shirt over her head, I can’t help but
lean forward and kiss the curve of her wide hips. A slow
shiver rakes through her, and she reaches behind her back to
unclasp her bra.
Holy fuck. Out of all the times I have made love to her, I
can’t remember ever feeling this feverish. Even the times
when she woke me up by wrapping her mouth around my
cock, I never felt this fucking animalistic.
I reach for her, taking one of her breasts into my mouth and
one in my hand. Her hands move to my shoulders to keep her
steady as I pucker my lips around her soft skin.
“Oh God,” she moans, her nails digging into my shoulder,
and I suck harder. “Lower, please.”
She attempts to guide my head down with a gentle push, so
I use my teeth against her, to tease her. I run my fingertips
along the underside of both of her breasts, slow and
torturous . . . this is what she gets for being so fucking
tempting and teasing.
Her hips move forward, and I slide my body down slightly
so that my mouth is at the perfect height to press against the
swollen bud of nerve endings between her thighs. With a soft
moan, she encourages me to go further, and my lips wrap
around her, sucking and savoring the wetness already gathered
there. She’s so warm and so fucking sweet.
“Your fingers haven’t quite satisfied you, have they?” I pull
away to ask her. She breathes a deep breath, her blue-gray eyes
watching me as I tilt my head and run my tongue along her
pubic bone.
“Don’t tease me,” she whines, tugging at my hair again.
“Did you touch yourself off again this week, after our chat
on the phone?” I taunt her. She squirms and gasps when my
tongue lands exactly where she wants it.
“No.”
“You’re lying.” I call her out. I can tell by the redness
creeping from her neckline to her cheeks and the way her eyes
flicker away to the mirrored wall that she’s not telling the
truth. She has gotten herself off since our time on the
phone . . . and the thought of her lying there, her legs spread
open, her fingers moving over herself, her finding such
pleasure from what I taught her . . . it makes me groan against
her hot skin.
“Only once,” she lies again.
“That’s too bad.” I completely pull away from her.
“Three times, okay?” Tessa admits, embarrassment clear in
her voice.
“What were you thinking about? What was it that made you
come?” I ask with a smirk.
“You, only you.” Her eyes are hopeful, needy.
Her admission thrills me, and I want to please her now
more than ever before. I know that I can make her come in less
than a minute using only my tongue, but I don’t want that.
With one last kiss to the apex of her thighs, I pull away and
stand. Tessa is completely naked, and the mirrors . . . fuck, the
mirrors reflect her perfect body all around me, multiplying
those luscious curves of hers ten-fold. Her smooth skin
surrounds me, making me tug my shorts and boxers down to
my ankles with only one hand. I begin to pull at the tape
wrapped around my knuckles, but her hand quickly darts out
to stop me.
“No, leave it,” Tessa requests, a flicker of darker lust
sparking in her eyes. So she likes the tape . . . or maybe
watching me work out . . . or the mirrors . . .
I do as she says and press my body against hers, my mouth
claiming hers, and I pull her down to the padded floor with
me.
Her hands run across my bare chest, and her eyes darken to
a smoky gray. “Your body is different now.”
“I’ve only been working out for a week.” I roll her naked
body so that’s she pinned underneath mine.
“But I can tell . . .” Her tongue runs across her full lips so
slowly that I don’t hesitate to press myself against her, letting
her know just how fucking hard I am. She’s so smooth and so
goddamn wet against me, one small movement, and I’ll finally
be inside her.
Then it hits me.
“I don’t have a fucking condom in here,” I curse and bury
my face in her shoulder.
She lets out a frustrated groan but presses her nails into me,
pulling me closer. “I need you,” she moans, flicking her
tongue across my mouth.
I press against the warm, soaked flesh and slowly fill her.
“But . . .” I begin to try to remind her of the risks, but her
eyes flutter closed, and sensation overwhelms me as I flex my
hips to get deeper, as deep inside her as I possibly can.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” I moan. I can’t get over just how
fucking warm and soft she feels without the barrier of a
condom. All of my common sense has been erased; all the
warnings that I’ve given to myself and to her have vanished. I
only need a few seconds, a few more thrusts into her eagerly
waiting body, and I’ll stop.
I lift myself by stretching my arms below me, straightening
them to gain leverage. I want to look at her while I’m moving
in and out of her. Her head is lifted off the padded floor, and
she’s staring at the spot where our flushed bodies are
connected.
“Look into the mirror,” I say. I’ll stop after three more . . .
okay, four. I can’t help but continue to move as she turns her
head to watch us in the mirrored wall. Her body looks so soft
and perfect, and fucking clean, compared to the black stains
covering mine. We are pure passion personified, devil and
angel, and I’ve never been more madly fucking in love with
her.
“I knew you liked watching, even if it’s only by your own
self, I fucking knew it.”
Her fingers press into the bottom of my spine, pulling me
closer and deeper, and fuck, I have to stop now, I feel the
pressure building from the bottom of my spine to my groin as I
reveal one of her kinks. I have to stop . . .
I slowly pull out of her, letting both of us enjoy the
lingering moment of pleasure. Her whines are quickly cut
short when my fingers slide into her with ease. “I’m going to
make you come now and then take you to your bed,” I promise
her, and she smiles a dazed smile before looking back into the
mirror, watching me.
“Quiet, baby, you’ll wake the others,” I whisper against her.
I love the noises she makes, the way she moans my name, but
the last thing I need is one of the cock-blocking Vances
knocking at the door.
Within seconds, I feel her tighten around my fingers. I nip
and suck at the nerve endings above her entrance, and she tugs
at my hair, continuing to watch me fuck her with my fingers
until she comes, gasping and panting my name repeatedly.
chapter ninety-six
TESSA
Hardin’s mouth leaves a trail of moisture up my stomach and
along my chest before he finally places a soft kiss on my
temple. I lie there on the floor next to him, trying to catch my
breath and relive the events leading up to this moment. I had
every intention of having a serious conversation with him
about his—no, our—lack of communication, but watching him
angrily assault that punching bag had me gasping and moaning
his name within minutes.
I lean up onto my elbow and look down at him. “I want to
reciprocate.”
“Be my guest.” He grins, his lips coated with my moisture.
I move quickly, taking him into my mouth before he
catches a single breath.
“Fuck,” he groans. The sensual noise causes my mouth to
fall open too far, and he slips out, down across my tongue.
Hardin bucks his hips off the floor to meet my lips again,
pressing himself inside my mouth again.
“Please, Tess,” he begs.
I can taste myself on him, but I barely notice it as he moans
my name.
“I’m not . . . fuck, I’m not going to last long,” he pants, and
I speed up. All too soon he tugs my hair and lifts my head
back.
“I’m going to come in your mouth, then take you to the bed
and fuck you again.” He runs his thumb over my lips, and
playfully, I bite down gently on the pad of his finger. His head
falls back, and his grip on my hair tightens as I work my
mouth on him.
I can feel his cock twitching, his legs stiffening as he gets
closer. “Fuck, Tessa . . . so good, baby,” he groans as his
warmth fills my mouth. I take it all, swallowing all he has to
give. Standing to my feet, I wipe at my lips with one finger.
“Get dressed,” he commands, tossing my bra to me.
As Hardin and I hastily get dressed, I catch him staring at
me time and time again. Not that it comes as all that much of a
surprise . . . I haven’t stopped staring at him either.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod, and Hardin turns the lights off, closes the door
behind us as if nothing happened in that room, and leads me
down the hallway. We walk in comfortable silence, a vast
difference from the tension between us earlier. When we reach
the part of the hallway just outside my bedroom, he stops me
by gently grabbing hold of my elbow.
“I should have told you about that nightmare instead of
distancing myself from you,” he says. The dim night-lights
along the floor cast just enough light onto his face to allow me
to see the pure honesty and softness behind his eyes.
“We both just need to learn to communicate.”
“You’re so much more understanding than I deserve you to
be,” he whispers and lifts my hand to his face. His lips press
against each of my knuckles, and my knees nearly buckle at
the touching gesture.
Hardin opens the door and takes my hand in his as he leads
me to the bed.
chapter ninety-seven
TESSA
Hardin’s hands are still covered in rough black tape, yet they
feel so tender wrapped around mine.
“I hope I haven’t worn you out.” He grins, brushing his
taped knuckles across my cheekbone.
“No.” The majority of the tension that I was feeling in my
body has been released by his fingers. However, the not-so-
subtle ache for him is still there. It always is.
“This is okay, right? I mean, you wanted space . . . and this
isn’t exactly space.” His arms wrap around me as we
hesitantly stand in front of the bed.
“We still need space, but this is what I want right now,” I
explain. I’m sure this doesn’t make much sense to Hardin,
because really, it doesn’t make much sense to me, especially
now, when his overwhelming presence is right here in front of
me.
“Me, too,” he breathes and dips his head down to my neck.
“This is what’s good for us . . . to be close this way,” he
whispers. His arms tighten around my body, and he uses his
knees to guide us onto the bed as his lips gently suck on my
tingling skin. I can feel him growing hard against my leg; he’s
ready to go again, and so am I.
“I’ve missed you so fucking much . . . I’ve missed your
body,” he hisses. His hands travel under my thin cotton T-shirt,
and he pulls it up over my head. My ponytail catches on the
neckline, but Hardin gently untangles my hair, and his fingers
reach behind me to pull the band out, letting my hair fall
against the mattress beneath me. He gently presses his lips to
my forehead; his mood has changed since he ravished me at
the gym. He was rough there, sexy and commanding. But now
he’s being my Hardin, the soft and gentle man hiding inside of
a tough exterior.
“The way your pulse”—his lips hover inches from mine,
and his fingers press against the tender beating in my neck as
he breathes—“goes fucking crazy when I touch you, especially
here”—his free hand slides down over my stomach and into
the front of my pajama pants.
“You’re always so ready for me.” He groans, running his
middle finger up and down. I feel my skin catch fire—it’s a
steady burn instead of an explosion, as fits his gentle touch.
Hardin removes his hand, then brings his finger to his lips. “So
sweet,” he says, and his wet tongue slowly darts out to cover
the tip of his finger.
He knows exactly what he’s doing to me. He knows how
much his dirty words affect me and how much they make me
want him. He knows, and he’s doing a damn good job at
making me burn with desire from the inside out.
chapter ninety-eight
HARDIN
I know exactly what I’m doing to her. I know how much she
loves my filthy mouth, and when I look down at her, she
doesn’t even bother to conceal it.
“You’re being such a good girl,” I say with a dark smile,
eliciting a moan from her without so much as a touch to her
flaming skin.
“Tell me what you want,” I whisper into her ear. I can
practically hear her erratic pulse under her skin. I’m driving
her crazy, and I fucking love it.
“You,” she says, desperately, vaguely.
“I want it slow. I want you to feel every single moment that
you were away from me.”
I tug on her pajamas and give her a commanding look.
Without a word she nods and pulls them down. Then I press
my thumb into her thin cotton panties, tearing them from her
body. Her eyes are wide and dark, her lips pink and swollen.
The force of my movement pulls her into me, and she wraps
both of her small hands around my arms, hooking them with
her beautiful little fingers.
“Grab the condom,” she reminds me.
Fuck, it’s across the hall in the room that no one could have
possibly expected me to actually stay in, with Tessa only
meters away. Curiously, however, the nightstand was stocked
with condoms upon my arrival.
“You grab the condom.” I playfully fight back, knowing
there’s no chance in hell I’m having her scurry across the
hallway half dressed. I gently push my hands under her back
and unsnap her bra, then slide the black straps down before
tossing the whole contraption onto the floor behind us.
“Cond—” she starts to remind me.
But her own sharp intake of breath interrupts the thought as
I suck on her newly exposed nipples. She’s so sensitive to my
touch, and I want to savor every second of her.
“Shh . . .” I silence her by biting down on the sensitive
flesh.
But after a moment, I do climb to my feet. I don’t waste my
time getting dressed. At least I’m wearing boxers; even if I
wasn’t, I sure as hell wouldn’t be wasting my time putting
clothes on right now.
I return to the room, four condoms in hand . . . I’m a little
ambitious and overprepared, but with the way Tessa is
behaving tonight, we may need the entire drawerful.
“I missed you,” she sweetly remarks, a shy smile covering
her face. And then there’s a flash of embarrassment in her eyes
when she realizes she’s said the words aloud.
“And I you,” I reply, which sounds as cheesy as I expected
it to.
Without any further Hallmark statements, I move to join
her on the bed again. She’s sitting up, completely topless, with
her back against the headboard and her knees slightly bent.
She’s completely naked; only the cream satin sheets drape
over the top of her thighs, blending in with her creamy skin.
I have to control myself at the sight. I have to stop myself
from literally diving onto the bed, ripping the sheets away
from her, and taking what is mine. I want tonight . . . well . . .
morning now, to go smoothly, and I don’t want to rush it.
Smiling, I stare at the woman on the bed. She’s staring back
at me, her eyes soft and warm, her cheeks painted a deep pink.
When I join her on the bed, eager hands move straight to the
lining of my boxers, tugging them down my thighs. Her feet
finish the job, and she gathers me in her hand, squeezing
gently.
“Christ,” I hiss, momentarily losing my focus on everything
except her touch. She begins to slowly pump, her small wrist
twisting slightly as it moves up and down, and I fucking love
the way she knows exactly how to touch me. As she lays
herself down, her hand keeps a steady rhythm, and I give her
the condom, silently instructing her what to do next.
She bites her lip and quickly obliges. As the latex rolls
down me, I silently curse at her, and myself, for never
following through with the birth-control plan. The feeling of
skin on skin with her is heavenly, and now that I’ve felt it, I
crave more and more.
She’s quick to climb on top of me and straddle my waist,
my dick only a breath away from slipping inside her.
“Wait . . .” I stop her by gently wrapping my hands around
her hips and laying her back down beside me on the bed.
Confusion flashes in her beautiful eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing . . . I just want to kiss you a little more first,” I
assure her and cup my hand around the nape of her neck to
bring her face closer to mine. My mouth covers hers, and I
hover over her body, forcing myself to take this slow. With her
naked body pressed against mine, I take a moment to
appreciate that after all the shit I’ve put her through, she’s still
here, she’s always fucking here, and it’s about goddamned
time I make it worth her while. I support my weight with one
arm and lie on top of her, parting her legs with my knee.
“I love you . . . so much. You still know that, don’t you?” I
ask her between strokes of my tongue over hers.
She nods, but for a dreadful moment, Zed’s face appears in
my mind. His confession of love for my Tessa, and her
thankful acceptance of it. “I love you, too,” she had moaned in
her sleep. A slow shiver travels through me, and I pause.
Noticing my hesitation, she pushes her fingers into my
unruly hair and takes possession of my mouth with hers.
“Come back to me,” she begs.
That’s all it takes.
Everything fades except for the softness of her body
underneath mine, the wetness between her legs as I slowly
push into her. The feeling is exquisite. No matter how many
times I’ve taken her, it won’t ever be enough.
“I love you.” She repeats the words. I wrap one arm under
her so our bodies are pressed as closely together as possible. I
lick my dry lips and bury my head in her neck again,
whispering dirty things into her ear and moving to kiss her
every time she moans my name.
I feel the buildup of pressure rising from my spine, igniting
every fucking vertebra. Tessa’s fingernails dig into my back,
across my shoulder blades, as if she’s reaching for the words
inked across my skin. The words meant for her, and only her.
“I never wish to be parted from you from this day on,” it
says. And I’m going to do everything I have to do in order to
keep my permanent promise.
I lean up to look at her. One hand still rests under her back;
the other travels up her torso and across both of her breasts,
and rests just below her throat.
“Tell me how it feels,” I say with a grunt. I’m barely
holding on to the pleasure that is coursing though me. I want
to keep it there for both of us, to make it last longer. I want to
create this space that we can both inhabit.
My movements quicken, and she moves one of her hands
down to fist the bedsheets. Every sinful twist of my hips, every
violent thrust into her waiting body, intensifies and further
seals the power she has over me.
“So good, Hardin . . . so good . . .” Her voice is thick and
hoarse, and I swallow the rest of her moans like the greedy
bastard I am. I feel her body begin to go rigid, and I can’t wait
any longer. With a soft cry of her name, I spill into the condom
with slow and sloppy thrusts before collapsing, barely
breathing, next to her.
I reach over and pull her body to mine, and when I open my
eyes, a sheer layer of sweat covers her silky skin, her eyes are
open, and she’s staring at the ceiling fan.
“You okay?” I ask her. I know I was a little rough toward
the end, but I also know how much she loves that shit.
“Yeah, of course.” She leans over to plant a kiss on my bare
chest and climbs out of the bed. I groan in disappointment
when she pulls her white T-shirt down over her head, covering
her body.
“Here’s your headband.” She smiles, proud of her corny
remark, and she tosses the sweat-dampened T-shirt I wrapped
around my head in the gym onto the bed. I roll the fabric up
and wrap it around my head again just to get a reaction out of
her.
“You don’t like it?” I ask, and she giggles.
“I do, actually.” Tessa is really putting on a show as she
bends down to pick up her black panties from the floor and
shimmies them up her thighs. That she isn’t wearing a bra is
wonderfully apparent as she shakes her body.
“Good. It’s easier this way.” I point to the contraption on
my head.
I really need a fucking haircut, but Steph’s friend, a
lavender-haired chick named Mads, has always been the one to
cut it. My blood begins to boil at the thought of Steph. That
stupid fucking . . .
“Earth to Hardin!” Tessa’s voice brings me out of my
hateful thoughts.
I snap my head up. “Sorry.”
Back in her pajamas, Tessa snuggles up next to me and,
strangely, grabs the remote to the TV and starts flipping
around trying to find something to watch. I’m a little dazed, so
the cooldown feels comfortable, but after a few minutes I
realize she’s sighed quite a few times. And when I look over at
her, there’s a deep scowl on her face, like finding a program to
watch is more frustrating than it should be.
“Something wrong?” I ask her.
“No,” she lies.
“Tell me now,” I press, and she lets out a quick breath.
“It’s nothing . . . I’m just a little . . .” Her cheeks flush.
“Wound up.”
“Wound up? You should be anything but wound up after
that.” I pull back a little and look at her.
“I didn’t . . . you know, I—I didn’t,” she stutters. Her
shyness never fails to surprise me. One minute she’s moaning
into my ear to fuck her harder, faster, deeper, and the next she
can’t form a sentence.
“Spill it,” I demand.
“I didn’t finish.”
“What?” I choke. Had I really been that consumed by my
own pleasure that I didn’t notice when she didn’t come?
“You stopped right before . . .” she quietly explains.
“Why didn’t you say something? Come here, then.” I tug at
her shirt to lift it over her head.
“What are you going to do?” she asks, excitement laced in
her tone.
“Shh . . .” I don’t know what I want to do . . . I want to
make love to her again, but I need a little more time to refuel.
Wait—got it.
“We’re going to do something that we’ve only done once.”
I smirk at her, and her eyes widen. “Because, you know,
practice makes perfect.”
“What’s that?” And just like that, her excitement has been
replaced by nervousness.
I lie back on my elbows and beckon to her to come to me.
“I don’t get it,” she says.
“Come here; put your thighs here.” I tap the empty space on
both sides of my head.
“What?”
“Tessa, come here, and then spread your thighs over my
face, so I can get you off right and proper,” I explain slowly
and clearly.
“Oh,” she squeaks. I see the hesitation in her eyes, and I
reach over to turn the lamp off. I want her to be as comfortable
as possible. Despite the darkness, I can still make out the soft
planes of her body, the fullness of her chest, the sexy curve of
her hips.
Tessa removes her panties, and within seconds she’s
following my instructions and kneeling over me.
“This is quite the view I have here,” I tease her, and my
vision disappears. She’s pulled my T-shirt down over my eyes.
“Well, this is much hotter, actually.” I smile against her
thighs. She smacks me playfully on the head in response.
“Really, though . . . it’s really fucking hot,” I add.
I hear her laugh in the darkness, and I bring my hands to
her hips, guiding her movements. Once my tongue touches
her, she begins to move her hips on her own, tugging at my
hair and whispering my name until she loses herself in the
pleasure I’m giving her.
chapter ninety-nine
TESSA
I come back to reality, slowly, unwillingly, but happy Hardin’s
lying next to me.
“Hey.” He smiles, kissing me on my lips.
I laugh—it’s a lazy sound, not wanting to move. My body
is slightly sore, but in the best way.
“I wish you weren’t leaving tomorrow,” I whisper while
running my fingertips over one of the branches on his tattoo.
The tree is dark, haunting and intricate. I wonder: If Hardin
were getting this tattoo now, would he get the dead tree again?
Or would there be just a few leaves on the branches, now that
he’s happier, more lively?
“Me, too,” he answers simply.
I can’t mask the desperation behind my plea when I say
“Then don’t.”
Hardin’s fingers spread across my back, and he presses my
naked body closer to his. “I don’t want to, but I know you’re
only saying that because I just made you come repeatedly.”
A horrified scoff falls from my lips. “That’s not true!”
Hardin’s body shakes gently with an amused chuckle. “It
really isn’t the only reason . . . Maybe we could be with each
other on the weekends for a little while and see where it goes
from there?”
“You expect me to drive here every weekend?”
“Not every one. I’ll come there, too.” I tilt to my head to
look into his eyes. “It’s working for us so far.”
“Tessa . . .” He sighs, “I already told you how I felt about
the long-distance shit.” My eyes flicker to the ceiling fan
slowly spinning around and around in the dimness of the
room. Rachel is pouring marinara sauce into Monica’s
handbag on the television screen.
“Yes, yet here you are,” I challenge him.
He sighs and tugs gently at the ends of my hair, forcing me
to look at him once more. “Touché.”
“Well, I think there’s some sort of compromise that can be
reached here, don’t you?”
“What’s your offer?” he asks softly, briefly closing his eyes
to take a deep breath.
“I don’t know exactly . . . give me a moment,” I say.
What exactly am I offering him? It’s in the best interest of
both of our sanities to stay somewhat distant from each other
for now. As much as my heart forgets all the terrible things
that Hardin and I have been through in the past, my brain
won’t allow me to give up all of my remaining dignity.
I am in Seattle, following my dream, alone, with no
apartment because of Hardin’s possessive nature and the
unwillingness of both of us to compromise over even the most
trivial details.
“I don’t know, really,” I finally say when I can’t come up
with a solid suggestion.
“Well, do you want me around still? Just for the weekends,
at least?” he asks. His fingers twist and twirl my hair.
“Yes.”
“Every weekend?”
“Mostly.” I smile.
“Do you want to talk on the phone each day like we did this
week?”
“Yes.” I loved the simple way Hardin and I spoke on the
phone, neither of us even noticing the minutes and hours as
they ticked by.
“So everything will be the same as it was this week, then. I
don’t know about that,” he says.
“Why not?” It’s seemed to work for him so far, so why
would he object to continuing the same way?
“Because, Tessa, you’re here in Seattle without me, and we
aren’t actually together, you could see someone else or meet
someone—”
“Hardin.” I lift myself onto my elbow to look down at him.
His eyes bore into mine, and a lock of my unruly blond hair
falls onto his face. Without breaking eye contact or even so
much as a blink, his fingers move to tuck the fallen hair back
behind my ear. “I’m not planning on seeing or meeting anyone
else. All I want out of this is some independence and for both
of us to be able to communicate.”
“Why is it so important to you to be independent all of a
sudden?” he asks. His thumb and forefinger glide across the
shell of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. If he’s trying
to distract me, he’s succeeding.
Despite his gentle touch and burning jade eyes, I continue
in my quest to make him understand where I’m coming from.
“It’s not a sudden thing. I’ve mentioned this to you before. I
also hadn’t noticed just how dependent on you I was until
recently, and I don’t like it. I don’t like being that way.”
“I do,” he says quietly.
“I know you do, but I don’t,” I say, refusing to allow the
confidence in my voice to falter. A part of me pats myself on
the back, then rolls her eyes at me because she isn’t buying it.
“Well, how do I play into this independent shit?”
“Just keep doing what you’re doing now. I have to be able
to make decisions without thinking about having your
permission or what you would think about them.”
“You definitely don’t think about having my permission
now, or you wouldn’t do half the shit you do.”
I don’t want to have a fight. “Hardin,” I warn him. “This is
important to me. I need to be able to think for myself. We
should be partners . . . equals, neither of us should hold
more . . . power than the other.” I struggle to find the words,
sifting through my mind for a better way to explain what I
want . . . what I need. I have to do this. This is part of who I
am, or who I want to be. I’m working hard to find myself, to
find out who I am on my own, with or without Hardin.
“Equals? Power? You obviously have more power here. I
mean, come on.”
“It’s not only for me . . . it’s been good for you, too. You
know it has.”
“I guess so, but what does that say about us that we can
only get along if we’re in different cities?” he asks . . . putting
into words the question that’s been nagging at me since he
arrived.
“Well, we’ll figure that out later.”
“Sure.” He stubbornly rolls his eyes but softens the reaction
by kissing my forehead.
“Remember what you said about there being a difference
between loving someone and not being able to live without
them?” I ask.
“I don’t ever want to hear that statement again, really.”
I swipe his damp hair off of his forehead. “You’re the one
who said it,” I remind him. My fingertips graze along the
outline of his nose, down to his swollen lips. “I’ve been
thinking about it so much since then,” I admit.
Hardin groans in annoyance. “Why?”
“Because you said it for a reason, didn’t you?”
“Out of anger, that’s all. I didn’t have a clue what it even
meant. I was just being a dick.”
“Well, either way, I keep thinking about it.” I gently tap on
the tip of his nose.
“Well, I wish you wouldn’t, because there’s no difference
between the two.” His words fall slowly between us, his tone
thoughtful.
“How so?”
He gives me a small smile. “I can’t live without you and I
love you: they go hand in hand. If I could live without you, I
wouldn’t be as in love with you as I am, and I clearly cannot
be far from you.”
“I’ll say.” I bite back the giggle that’s threatening to
emerge.
He notices my lightness. “I know you aren’t talking about
me . . . You nearly busted your ass running to tackle me when
I arrived.” Even in the darkness of the room, I can see his
bright, widening smile, and my breath catches as I take in the
raw beauty of him. When he behaves this way, unguarded and
natural, there’s nothing better in my world.
“I knew you were going to torture me for that!” I swat at
his bare chest, and his hand flies up to catch my wrist between
his long fingers.
“Are you trying to get rough with me again? Look what
happened last time.” He lifts his head off the mattress, and the
heat begins to spread down my body, resting between my
already sore thighs.
“Can you stay one more day?” I dodge his remark about
being rough. I need to know if I’m going to have more time
with him tomorrow so we can spend the remainder of the
morning hours . . . well . . . getting rough. “Please,” I add,
snuggling my head into the crook of his neck.
“Fine,” he says. I can feel his jaw move as he smiles against
my forehead. “But only if you blindfold me again.”
In one quick motion, he wraps his arms around my back
and flips my body under his, and seconds later we’re lost in
each other . . . again and again . . .
chapter one hundred
HARDIN
Kimberly is sitting at the breakfast bar when I walk into the
kitchen. Her face is free of makeup, and her hair is pulled back
away from her face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her without a
shit ton of crap on her face, and for Vance’s sake I contemplate
hiding the shit from her because she looks much better without
it.
“Well, look who’s finally awake,” she says in a chipper
tone.
“Yeah, yeah.” I groan and walk straight past her to the
coffee machine nestled in the corner of the dark granite
countertop.
“What time are you leaving?” she asks while picking at a
bowl of lettuce.
“Not until tomorrow, if that’s okay. Or do you want me out
now?” I fill a mug with the black liquid and turn to face her.
“Of course you can stay.” She grins. “As long as you aren’t
being an asshole to Tessa.”
“Actually, I’m not.” I roll my eyes as Vance enters the
room. “You need to get a tighter leash on this one, perhaps
even a muzzle,” I tell him.
A deep bellowing laugh comes from her fiancé just as
Kimberly raises her middle finger to me.
“So classy,” I taunt her.
“You’re in an awfully cheery mood.” Christian grins
wickedly, and Kimberly shoots him a glare.
What the hell is that about?
“Wonder why that is?” he adds, and she elbows him.
“Christian . . .” she scolds, and he shakes his head. His
hand lifts in defense to block her from repeating the playful
assault.
“Probably because he’s missed Tessa,” Kimberly suggests
and eyes Christian as he circles around the oversized island to
grab a banana from the fruit basket.
His eyes twinkle in amusement as he pulls down the peel of
a banana. “I heard midnight workouts will do that.”
My blood turns cold. “What did you say?”
“Calm down . . . he shut the camera off before the good
stuff,” Kimberly assures me.
Camera?
Fuck. Of fucking course this asshole would have a camera
in his gym . . . Hell, every main access room is probably
equipped with security cameras. He’s always been more
paranoid behind that slick demeanor than he lets on.
“What did you see?” I growl, trying to keep my pulsing
anger at bay.
“Nothing. Only that Tessa came into the room; he knew
better than to continue . . .” Kimberly bites back a grin, and
relief floods through me. I was too caught up in the moment,
caught up in Tessa, to think about shit like security cams.
I scowl at Vance. “Why were you even watching the
footage? That’s pretty fucking creepy that you were watching
me work out.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I was checking the kitchen monitor,
because it had a short; the gym just happened to be playing
alongside it at the time.”
“Sure,” I say, stretching the word out.
“Hardin’s staying another night; that’s fine, right?” Kim
asks him.
“Of course it’s fine. I don’t know why your ass isn’t here to
stay anyway. You know I’ll pay you more than Bolthouse.”
“You didn’t the first time—that was the problem,” I remind
him with a smug grin.
“That’s because you were only a freshman in college at the
time. You were lucky to have a paid internship, let alone an
actual job, without a degree.” He shrugs, trying to dismiss my
argument.
I cross my arms in defense. “Bolthouse disagrees with
you.”
“They are twats. Need I remind you that in the last year
alone, Vance Publishing has surpassed them by a huge margin.
I’ve expanded here to Seattle, and I plan on opening a New
York office by next year.”
“Is there a point to all this bragging?” I ask.
“Yes. Point is, Vance is better, bigger, and happens to be
where she’s working.” He doesn’t have to say Tessa’s name
for me to feel the weight of his words. “You’ll be graduating
after this semester; don’t make an impulsive decision now that
will impact the entirety of your career before it even begins.”
He takes a quick bite of the fruit in his hand, and I scowl at
him, trying to think of a sharp reply.
I can’t seem to come up with one. “Bolthouse has an office
in London.”
He looks at me in mocking disbelief. “Who’s going back to
London? You?” He doesn’t hide the sarcasm in his voice.
“Possibly. I had planned on it and still am.”
“Yeah, so did I.” He glances at his future wife. “You’ll
never go back to live there, just as I won’t either.”
Kimberly flushes and gushes at his words, and I come to
the conclusion that they’re the most obnoxious couple I’ve
ever encountered. It’s like you can see how much they love
each other just by watching them interact. It’s annoying and
uncomfortable.
“Point proven.” Christian snickers.
“I didn’t agree with you,” I snap.
“Yes,” Kimberly butts in, like the ballbuster she is. “But
you didn’t disagree either.”
Without another word, I take my coffee mug and my balls
as far away from Kimberly as I can get them.
chapter
one hundred and one
TESSA
The morning arrives much too quickly, and when I wake up,
I’m alone in the bed. The empty side of the mattress still bears
the imprint of Hardin’s body, so he must have gotten up only a
few minutes ago.
Right on cue, he enters the room quietly, coffee mug in
hand.
“Good morning,” he says when he notices that I’m awake.
“Morning.” My throat is tight and dry. Images of Hardin
moving in and out of my mouth with furious thrusts makes my
insides tighten.
“Are you feeling okay?” He places the steaming mug of
coffee on the dresser and walks over to the bed. He sits down
next to me on the edge of the mattress. “Answer me,” he
calmly adds when I take too long to respond.
“Yeah, just sore.” I stretch my arms and legs out in front of
me. Yes . . . definitely sore. “Where did you go?”
“I went to get some coffee, and I had to call Landon to tell
him I won’t be home today,” he tells me. “If you still want me
to stay, that is.”
“I do.” I nod at him. “But why do you have to tell
Landon?”
Hardin runs his hand over his hair, and his eyes concentrate
on reading my expression. I get the feeling that I’m missing
something here.
“Answer me,” I say, using his own words back at him.
“He’s babysitting your dad.”
“Why?” Why would my father need a babysitter?
“Your dad’s trying to get sober, that’s why. And I’m not
stupid enough to leave him at that apartment by himself.”
“You have liquor there, don’t you?”
“No, I tossed it. Just drop this, okay?” His tone is no longer
gentle; it’s urgent, and he’s clearly on edge.
“I’m not going to just drop it. Is there something that I
should know? Because I feel like I’m being left out of the loop
here, again.” I cross my arms over my chest and he takes a
deep, dramatic breath, his eyes closing with the gesture.
“Yes, there is something that you don’t know about, but I’m
begging you to just trust me, okay?”
“How bad?” I ask; the possibilities terrify me.
“Just trust me, okay?”
“Trust you to do what?”
“Trust that I will take care of all of this shit so that by the
time I tell you what happened, it won’t matter anymore. You
have enough shit going on right now; please, just trust me on
this. Let me do this for you, and let it go,” he urges.
The initial paranoia and panic that always come with these
types of situations flutter through me, and I’m moments away
from snatching Hardin’s phone from him and calling Landon
myself. The look on Hardin’s face, though, stops me. He’s
pleading for me to trust him on this, trust that he’ll be able to
fix whatever it is that’s going on; and to tell the truth, as much
as I want to know, I don’t think I can handle another problem
on my already full plate.
“Okay.” I sigh.
His brows furrow, and he cocks his head to the side.
“Really?” He’s astounded by how easy it was to persuade me
to back off, I’m sure.
“Yes. I’ll do my best not to worry about the situation with
my dad as long as you can promise me that it’s better for me
not to know.”
He nods. “I promise.”
I believe him, mostly.
“Fine.” I finalize the agreement with the word and try my
best to push my obsessive need to know what’s happening to
the back of my mind. I need to trust Hardin with this. I need to
trust him of my own resolve. If I can’t trust him with this, how
can I entertain a future for us at all?
I sigh, and Hardin smiles at my acquiescence.
chapter
one hundred and two
TESSA
Looks like I’ll be filling out these thank-you cards to the
guests who made last night’s club opening such a big success,”
Kimberly says with a wry grin and a wave of an envelope
when I enter the kitchen. “What are the two of you planning
for today?”
A look at the stack of cards she’s already addressed, and the
pile she’s still working on, makes me wonder just how many
businesses Christian has invested in, if all those people she’s
writing to were “partners” of some sort. The size of this house
alone has to mean he has more enterprises going on than just
Vance Publishing and a single jazz club.
“I’m not sure. We’ll figure it out when Hardin gets out of
the shower,” I tell her, and slide a fresh stack of small
envelopes across the granite countertop.
I had to force Hardin into the bathroom to take a shower
alone; he was still irritated with me for locking him out of the
bathroom while I took mine. No matter how many times I tried
to explain to him how awkward I’d feel if the Vances knew we
were showering together in their home, he’d give me a weird
little look and argue that we’d done much worse in their house
than shower together over the past twelve hours.
I stood my ground despite his pleading. The events in the
gym were motivated by pure lust and were entirely unplanned.
The love we made in my bedroom isn’t an issue, because it’s
my bedroom for now, and I’m an adult having consensual sex
with my . . . whatever it is that Hardin is to me right now. The
shower thing, however, makes me feel differently.
Being the stubborn man he is, Hardin still didn’t agree,
which led to me asking him to get me a glass of water from the
kitchen. I pouted, and he fell for it. The moment he left the
room, I jetted down the hall to the bathroom, locking the door
behind me and ignoring his annoyed demands for me to let
him in.
“You should make him take you sightseeing,” Kimberly
tells me. “Maybe throwing yourselves into the culture of the
city will help him with his decision to move here with you.”
This kind of weighty conversation is not something that I
want to deal with right now. “So . . . Sasha seemed nice,” I
say, to not-so-covertly move the conversation away from my
relationship issues.
Kimberly snorts. “Sasha? Nice? Not so much.”
“She knows that Max is married, doesn’t she?”
“Of course she does.” She licks her lips. “But does she
care? No, not at all. She likes his money and the expensive
jewelry that comes along with seeing him. She could care less
about his wife and daughter.” The disapproval in Kim’s voice
is heavy, and I’m relieved to find that we’re in agreement on
this subject.
“Max is a jerk, but I’m still surprised that he’d have the
nerve to bring her around other people. I mean, doesn’t he care
if Denise or Lillian find out about her?”
“I suspect that Denise already knows. With a guy like Max,
there have been plenty of other Sashas over the years, and
poor Lillian already despises her father, so it wouldn’t make
any difference if she knew.”
“That’s so sad; they’ve been married since college, right?” I
don’t know how much Kimberly knows about Max and his
family, but given her gossiping ways, I’m sure it’s not nothing.
“They married right out of college—it was quite the
scandal.” Kimberly’s eyes light up with the thrill of spilling
such a juicy story to my unknowing ears. “Apparently, Max
was set to marry someone else, some woman whose family
was close with his. It was basically a business deal. Max’s
father came from old money; I think that’s at least part of why
Max is such an asshole. Denise was heartbroken when he told
her of his plan to marry another woman.” Kimberly speaks as
if she was actually present at the time all this was happening,
instead of just passing along gossip. Maybe, though, that’s
what gossips always feel like?
She takes a sip of water before continuing. “Anyway, after
graduation, Max rebelled against his father and literally left
the woman waiting at the altar. On the very day of the
wedding, he showed up at Trish and Ken’s place in his tuxedo
and waited outside the door until Denise came out. That same
night, the five of them bribed a pastor, using a fancy bottle of
scotch and the little bit of cash in their pockets. Denise and
Max were married just before midnight, and she was pregnant
with Lillian a few weeks later.”
My brain has a hard time picturing Max as a lovesick
young man, rushing through the streets of London in a tuxedo,
tracking down the woman he loved. The same woman that he
now repeatedly betrays by hopping into bed with the likes of
Sasha.
“I don’t mean to intrude, but was Christian’s . . .” I’m
unsure what to call her. “I mean, Smith’s mother, was she . . .”
With an understanding smile, Kimberly ends my awkward
fumbling. “Rose came along many years later. Christian was
always the fifth wheel with the two couples. Once he and Ken
stopped speaking and Christian came to America . . . that’s
when Christian met Rose.”
“How long were they married?” I search Kimberly’s face
for signs of discomfort. I don’t want to intrude, but I can’t help
being fascinated by the history of this group of friends. I hope
that Kimberly knows me well enough by now not to be
surprised by how many questions I’m prone to ask.
“Only two years. They’d only been dating a few months
before she got sick.” Her voice cracks, and she swallows, tears
brimming in her eyes. “He married her anyway . . . She was
taken down the aisle . . . in a wheelchair . . . by her father, who
insisted on doing it. Halfway to the altar, Christian stepped
down and pushed her the rest of the way.” Kimberly breaks
into sobs, and I brush away the tears that are falling from my
eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she says with a wan smile. “I haven’t told this
story in a long time, and it just makes me so emotional.” She
reaches across the countertop to pull a wad of tissues from a
box and passes one to me. “Just thinking about it always
shows me that behind his smart mouth and brilliant mind,
there is an incredible loving man.”
She looks at me, then down at the stacks of envelopes.
“Shit, I got tears on the cards!” she exclaims, recovering
quickly.
I want to ask her more questions about Rose and Smith,
Ken and Trish in their college days, but I don’t want to push
her.
“He loved Rose, and she healed him, even in her dying
days. He only loved one woman his entire life, and she finally
broke him of that.”
The story, as lovely as it is, only confuses me further. Who
was this woman that Christian loved, and why did he need
healing after this?
Kimberly blows her nose and looks up. I turn to the
doorway, where Hardin awkwardly glances back and forth
between Kimberly and me, taking in the scene unfolding in the
kitchen.
“Well, I obviously showed up at the wrong time,” he says.
I can’t help but smile at how we must look, crying for no
apparent reason, two massive stacks of cards and envelopes
sitting in front of us on the countertop.
Hardin’s hair is wet from his shower, and his face is freshly
shaven. He looks incredible in a plain black T-shirt and jeans.
He’s wearing nothing on his feet except socks, and his
expression is wary as he silently beckons me to him.
“Should I expect you two for dinner tonight?” Kimberly
asks as I cross the room to stand at Hardin’s side.
“Yes,” I respond at the same time that Hardin says “No.”
Kim laughs and shakes her head. “Well, text me when you
two come to an agreement.”
A FEW MINUTES LATER, as Hardin and I reach the front
door, Christian suddenly pops out from a side room, sporting a
huge grin. “It’s freezing outside. Where’s your coat, boy?”
“First off, I don’t need a coat. Second, don’t call me boy.”
Hardin rolls his eyes.
Christian pulls a heavy navy-blue pea coat from the rack
next to the door. “Here, wear this. It’s like a damn heater in
and of itself.”
“Hell no,” Hardin scoffs, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Don’t be an idiot; it’s twenty degrees outside. Your lady
may need you to keep her warm,” Christian teases, and
Hardin’s eyes assess my thick purple sweater, purple coat, and
purple beanie, which he hasn’t stopped teasing me about since
I pushed it onto my head. I wore this same outfit the night that
he took me ice skating, and he teased me then, too. Some
things never change.
“Fine,” Hardin grumbles and pushes his long arms into the
coat. I’m not surprised to find that he pulls off the look; even
the large bronze buttons that line the front of the jacket
somehow assume a masculine edge when mixed with Hardin’s
simple style. His new jeans, which I have grown really fond
of, and his plain black T-shirt, black boots, and now this coat,
make him look like he was plucked straight from the pages of
a magazine. It’s simply not fair the way he looks so
effortlessly perfect.
“Stare much?”
I jump slightly at Hardin’s words. In turn, I’m granted a
smirk and a warm hand wrapped around mine.
Just then, Kimberly rushes through the living room and into
the foyer, followed by Smith, calling, “Wait! Smith wants to
ask you something.” She looks down at her soon-to-be stepson
with a loving smile. “Go ahead, sweetie.”
The blond boy looks directly at Hardin. “Can you take a
picture for my school thing?”
“What?” Hardin’s face slightly pales, and he looks at me. I
know how he feels about being photographed.
“It’s sort of a collage he’s doing. He said he wants your
picture, too,” Kimberly tells Hardin, and I look over to him,
pleading with him not to deny the boy who clearly idolizes
him.
“Um, sure?” Hardin shifts on his heels and looks at Smith.
“Can Tessa be in the picture, too?”
Smith shrugs. “I guess so.”
I smile at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Hardin shoots
me a he-likes-me-more-than-you-and-I don’t-even-have-to-try
look, and I discreetly elbow him as we walk into the living
room. I pull the beanie from my head and use the band on my
wrist to pull my hair back for the picture. Hardin’s beauty is so
unforced and natural; all he has to do is stand there with his
uncomfortable frown on his face, and he looks perfect.
“I’ll take it quickly,” Kimberly says.
Hardin moves closer to me and lazily hooks his arm around
my waist. I give my best smile while he attempts to smile
without showing his teeth. I nudge him, and his smile
brightens just in time for Kimberly to take the shot.
“Thank you.” I can see that she’s genuinely pleased.
“Let’s go,” Hardin says, and I nod, giving Smith a small
wave before following Hardin through the foyer to the front
door.
“That was so nice of you,” I tell him.
“Whatever.” He smiles and covers my mouth with his. I
hear the small click of a camera and pull away from him to
find Kimberly with the camera again held to her face. Hardin
turns his head to hide in my hair, and she takes another shot.
“Enough, shit.” He groans and drags me out the door.
“What is with this family and their videos and pictures,” he
rambles on, and I close the heavy door behind me.
“Videos?” I ask.
“Never mind.”
The cold air whips around us, and I quickly put my hair
down and pull my hat back over my head.
“We’ll take your car and get an oil change first,” Hardin
says over the howling wind. I dig into the front pockets of my
coat to retrieve my keys to give to him, but he shakes his head
and dangles his key chain in front of my face. It’s now
furnished with one key bearing a familiar green band.
“You didn’t take your key back when you left all your
gifts,” he says.
“Oh . . .” My mind fills with the memory of leaving my
most precious possessions in a pile on the bed we once shared.
“I’d like those things back soon, if that’s okay.”
Hardin climbs into the car without another glance my way,
mumbling over his shoulder, “Um, yeah. Sure.”
Once we’re inside the car, Hardin turns the heat all the way
up and reaches across to grab my hand. He rests both of our
hands on my thigh, and his fingers trace a thoughtful pattern
over my wrist, where the bracelet would normally rest.
“I hate that you left it there . . . It should be here.” He
presses against the base of my wrist.
“I know.” My voice is barely a whisper. I miss that bracelet
every day; my e-reader, too. I want the letter he wrote me back
as well. I want to be able to read it over and over.
“Maybe you can bring them when you come back next
weekend?” I ask, hopeful.
“Yeah, sure,” he says, but his eyes stay focused on the road.
“Why are we getting an oil change, anyway?” I ask him.
We finally make it out of the long driveway and turn onto the
residential road.
“You need one.” He gestures toward the small sticker on
the windshield.
“Okay . . .”
“What?” He glowers at me.
“Nothing. It’s just an odd thing to do, to take someone’s car
to get an oil change.”
“I’ve been the only one taking your car for an oil change
for months; why would it surprise you now?”
He’s right; he’s always the one to take my care for any type
of maintenance it may need, and sometimes I suspect he’s
being paranoid and has things fixed or replaced that don’t need
to be.
“I don’t know. I guess I forget that we were a normal
couple sometimes,” I admit, fidgeting in my seat.
“Explain.”
“It’s hard to remember the small, normal things like oil
changes or the time you let me braid your hair.” I smile at the
memory. “When we always seem to be going through some
sort of crisis.”
“First of all . . .”—he smirks—“don’t ever mention that
hair-braiding fiasco again. You know damned well that the
only reason I let that happen was because you bribed me with
head and cookies.” He gently squeezes my thigh, and a rush of
heat flares under my skin. “Second, I guess you’re right in a
way. It would be nice if your memories of me weren’t tainted
by my constant habit of fucking everything up.”
“It’s not only you; we both made mistakes,” I correct him.
Hardin’s mistakes usually caused much more damage than
mine, but I’m not innocent either. We need to stop blaming
ourselves or each other and try to reach some sort of middle
ground—together. That can’t happen if Hardin continues to
beat himself up over every mistake he’s made in the past. He
has to find a way to forgive himself . . . so he can move on and
be the person I know he really wants to be.
“You didn’t,” he retorts, fighting back.
“Instead of the two of us going back and forth over who
made mistakes and who didn’t, let’s decide what we’re going
to do with our day after the oil change.”
“You’ll get an iPhone,” he says.
“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want an
iPhone . . . ?” I grumble. My phone is slow, yes, but iPhones
are expensive and complicated—two things I can’t afford to
add to my life right now.
“Everyone wants an iPhone. You’re just one of those
people who don’t want to give in to the trend.” He looks over
at me, and I see his dimples pucker evilly. “That’s why you
were still wearing floor-length skirts in college.” Finding
himself absolutely hilarious, he fills the car with his laughter.
I playfully scowl at his overused dig. “I can’t afford one
right now anyway. I have to save my money for an apartment
and groceries. You know, the necessities.” I roll my eyes, but
smile back at him to soften the blow.
“Imagine the things we could do if you had an iPhone, too.
There’d be even more ways for us to communicate, and you
know I’d get it for you, so don’t mention the money again.”
“What I can imagine is doing things like tracking my phone
so you could see where I go,” I tease, ignoring his
overpowering need to buy me things.
“No, like we could video-chat.”
“Why would we do that?”
He looks at me as if I’ve grown another set of eyes and
shakes his head. “Because, imagine being able to see me each
day on your shiny new iPhone screen.”
Images of phone sex and video chats immediately spring
into mind, and I shamelessly run through shots of Hardin
touching himself on the screen. What is wrong with me?
My cheeks heat, and I can’t help but glance at his lap.
With one finger under my chin, Hardin tilts my face up to
look at him. “You’re thinking about it . . . going over all the
dirty shit I could do to you via iPhone.”
“No, I’m not.” Holding tight to my stubborn refusal to get a
new cell phone, I change the subject. “My new office is
nice . . . the view is incredible.”
“Is it?” Hardin’s tone immediately turns somber.
“Yes, and the view from the lunchroom is even better.
Trevor’s office has—” I stop myself from finishing the
sentence, but it’s too late. Hardin is already glaring at me,
expecting me to finish.
“No, no. Continue.”
“Trevor’s office has the best view,” I tell him, my voice
coming out much more clear and steady than I’m feeling on
the inside.
“Just how often are you in his office, Tessa?” Hardin’s eyes
flicker to me and then back to the road.
“I’ve been there twice this week. We have lunch together.”
“You what?” Hardin snaps. I knew I should have waited
until after dinner to bring up Trevor. Or not brought him up at
all. I shouldn’t even have mentioned his name.
“I have lunch with him, usually,” I admit. Unfortunately for
me, at that moment my car is stopped at a red light, leaving me
no choice but to be at the receiving end of Hardin’s glare.
“Every day?”
“Yes . . .”
“Is there a reason behind it?”
“He’s the only person I know that has the same lunch hour
as me. Kimberly’s so busy helping Christian that she hasn’t
even been taking a lunch hour.” Both of my hands move in
front of my face to aid in my explanation.
“So have your lunch hour changed.” The light turns green,
but Hardin doesn’t step on the gas pedal until an angry horn
sounds from behind us in the line of traffic.
“I’m not having my lunch hour changed. Trevor is my
coworker, end of story.”
“Well,” Hardin breathes, “I would prefer you not to eat
lunch with fucking Trevor. I can’t stand him.”
Laughing, I reach down onto my lap and place my hand on
top of Hardin’s. “You’re being irrationally jealous, and it
happens that there’s no one else for me to have lunch with,
especially when the other two women that share the same
lunch hour have been mean to me all week.”
He glances sideways at me while switching lanes smoothly.
“What do you mean, they’ve been mean to you?”
“They haven’t been mean exactly. I don’t know, maybe I’m
just paranoid.”
“What happened? Tell me,” he urges.
“It’s nothing serious, I just get the feeling that they don’t
like me for some reason. I always catch the two of them
laughing or whispering while staring at me. Trevor said they
like to gossip, and I swear I heard them say something about
how I got the job.”
“They said what?” Hardin sneers. His knuckles are white as
he grips the steering wheel.
“They made a comment, something like ‘we know how she
got the job anyway.’ ”
“Did you say something to them? Or to Christian?”
“No, I don’t want to cause any problems. I’ve only been
there a week, and I don’t want to run and tattle on them like a
schoolgirl.”
“Fuck that. You need to tell those women to fuck off, or I’ll
tell Christian myself. What are their names? I may know
them.”
“It’s not that big of a deal,” I say, trying to deactivate the
bomb I’ve clearly assembled myself. “Every office has a set of
catty women. The ones in mine just happen to have targeted
me. I don’t want this to be a thing; I just want to blend in there
and maybe even make some friends.”
“Not likely to happen if you continue to let them act like
bitches and hang out with fucking Trevor all day.” He licks his
lips and takes a deep breath.
I take an equally deep breath and look at him, debating
whether or not to defend Trevor.
Fuck it.
“Trevor is the only person there that makes any type of
effort to be kind to me, and I already know him. That’s why I
spend my lunch hour with him.” I stare out the window and
watch my favorite city in the world pass by as I wait for the
bomb to explode.
When Hardin doesn’t respond, I look over at him and his
laser stare at the road ahead, then add, “I really miss Landon.”
“He misses you, too. So does your dad.”
I sigh. “I want to know how he is, but if I ask one question,
it’ll lead to thirty. You know how I am.” Worry blooms inside
my chest, and I do my best to push it back down and lock it
away.
“I do know, that’s why I won’t answer them.”
“How’s Karen? And your father? Is it sad that I miss those
two more than I miss my own parents?” I ask.
“No, considering who your parents are.” He scrunches his
nose. “To answer your question, they’re good, I guess. I don’t
really pay attention.”
“I hope this place starts to feel like home soon,” I say
without thinking and sink back into the leather seat.
“You don’t seem to like Seattle so far, so what the hell are
you doing here?” Hardin pulls my car into the lot of a small
building. Plastered on the front is a massive yellow sign
promising fifteen-minute oil changes and friendly service.
I don’t know how to answer him. I’m afraid to share my
fears and doubts about my recent move with Hardin. Not
because I don’t trust him, but because I don’t want him to use
them as an opening to push me to leave Seattle. I could really
use a big pep talk right now, but, frankly, would settle for
silence over the “I told you so” I’m most likely to hear from
Hardin.
“It’s not that I don’t like it here, I’m just not used to it yet.
It’s only been one week, and I’m used to my routine and
Landon, and you,” I explain.
“I’ll pull into the line and meet you inside,” Hardin tells me
without a word regarding my response.
With a nod, I climb out of the car and hurry out of the cold
and into the small mechanic shop. The scent of burned rubber
and stale coffee fills the waiting room. I’m staring at a framed
photograph of an old-fashioned car when I feel Hardin’s hand
come to rest on the small of my back.
“It shouldn’t be too long.” He takes my hand in his and
leads me to the dusty leather couch in the center of the room.
Twenty minutes later, he’s on his feet, pacing back and
forth across the black-and-white-tiled flooring. A bell chimes
through the room, signaling that someone has joined us.
“The sign outside says fifteen-minute oil change,” Hardin
snaps at the young man wearing oil-stained coveralls.
“Yeah, it does.” The man shrugs. The cigarette tucked
behind his ear falls down onto the counter, and he quickly
retrieves it with a gloved hand.
“Are you shitting me?” Hardin growls, his patience clearly
grown thin.
“It’s almost done,” the mechanic assures him before exiting
the waiting room just as abruptly as he entered. I don’t blame
him.
I turn to Hardin and rise to my feet. “It’s fine; we aren’t in a
hurry.”
“He’s wasting my time with you. I have less than twenty-
four hours with you, and he’s fucking wasting it.”
“It’s fine.” I walk across the tile floor to stand in front of
him. “We’re here together.” I push my hands into the pockets
of Christian’s coat, and he presses his lips into a tight line to
keep his frown from turning into a smile.
“If they aren’t done within ten minutes, I’m not paying for
this shit,” he threatens, and I shake my head at him and bury
my head in his chest.
“Don’t apologize to that guy for me either.” He reaches
under my chin with his thumb and lifts my head to look into
my eyes. “I know you’re planning to.” He places a soft kiss
against my lips, and I find myself hungry and anxious for
more.
The topics of discussion in the car have proven to be sore
spots for us in the past, yet we made the entire drive here
without a major blowup. I’m surprisingly giddy over that, or
maybe it’s Hardin’s warm arms wrapping around my waist, or
his usual minty scent laced with Christian’s cologne that he
borrowed.
Whatever it is, I’m aware of the fact that we’re the only
people waiting in the small shop, and I’m surprised by
Hardin’s affectionateness as he kisses me again; this time his
lips press much harder and his tongue swipes out to meet
mine. My hands find their way into his hair, and I tug gently at
the ends, making him groan and tighten his grip on my waist.
He brings my body flush to his, his mouth still claiming mine,
until the shrill sound of a bell goes off, making me jump away
from him and smooth my hand over my beanie out of
nervousness alone.
“Aaaaaall done,” the cigarette-toting man from minutes ago
announces.
“About time,” Hardin rudely remarks and pulls his wallet
from his back pocket, shooting me a warning glare when I do
the same.
chapter
one hundred and three
HARDIN
He wasn’t staring at me,” she says, trying to convince me as
we finally reach her car, which I was forced to park in the
farthest possible spot away from the restaurant.
“He was panting over his lasagna. There was a line of drool
hanging from his chin to prove it.” The man’s eyes were glued
to Tessa the entire time that I tried to enjoy our overpriced,
oversauced pasta plate.
I want to press it further, but I decide against it. She didn’t
even notice the man’s attention; she was too busy smiling and
talking with me to give him a second glance. Her smiles are
bright and honest, her patience with my annoyed remarks
about waiting too long for a table was remarkable, and she
seems to always find a way to touch me. A hand on mine, a
soft brush of her fingers over my arm, her soft hand brushing
the mop of hair off my forehead; she’s constantly touching me,
and I feel like a fucking kid on Christmas. If I were to know
how being excited on Christmas as a child actually felt.
I turn the heat in the car to the highest setting, wanting to
get her warmed up as quickly as possible. Her nose and cheeks
are an adorable shade of red, and I can’t help but lean over and
run my cold hand across her quivering lips.
“Well, it’s a shame that he’ll be paying so much for drool-
filled lasagna then, huh?” She giggles, and I lean over to
silence her corny remark by pressing my mouth to hers.
“Come here,” I groan. I gently pull her onto my lap by the
sleeves of her purple jacket. She doesn’t protest; instead, she
climbs over the small barrier of armrests and onto my lap. Her
mouth is steady on mine, and I possessively stake my claim by
pulling her body as close to mine as the awkward design of
this small car will allow. She gasps when I pull the lever on
the seat to cause it to lie back, and her body falls onto mine.
“I’m still sore,” she tells me, and I gently pull away from
her.
“I just wanted to kiss you,” I tell her. It’s true. Not that I
would turn down making love to her in the front seat of her
car, but it wasn’t on my mind at the time.
“I want to, though,” she shyly admits, turning her head
slightly to hide from my view.
“We can go home . . . well, to your place—”
“Why not here?”
“Hello? Tessa?” I wave my hand in front of her face, and
she looks up at me, bewildered. “Have you seen Tessa around
anywhere, because this hormone-addled, sex-crazed woman
wiggling in my lap is certainly not her,” I tease, and she
catches on, finally.
“I’m not sex-crazed.” She pouts, pushing out her lower lip,
and I lean up to catch it between my teeth. Her hips move
against me, and I scan the parking lot. The sun has begun to
set already, the thick air and cloudy skies making it appear to
be even later than it actually is. The parking lot is nearly full
of cars, though, and the last thing I want is someone catching
us fucking in public.
She pulls her mouth from mine and trails her lips down the
column of my neck. “I’m stressed, and you’ve been gone, and
I love you.” Despite the blasting heat pouring from the vents, a
shiver rakes down my spine, and she reaches between us to
palm me through my jeans. “So maybe I’m a little hormonal,
it’s almost . . . you know, that time.” She whispers the last two
words as if they’re a dirty secret.
“Oh, now I get it.” I grin, concocting vulgar jokes in my
mind to tease her with the entire week, the way I always do.
She reads my mind. “Don’t say a word,” she scolds, gently
squeezing and kneading my cock while her mouth moves
against my neck.
“Then stop doing that before I come in my pants. I’ve
already done that too many times since I met you.”
“Yeah, you have.” She bites down on my flesh, and my hips
betray me by lifting to meet her torturous swirling movements.
“Let’s go back . . . If someone sees you like this, riding me
in the middle of the parking lot, I’d have to kill them.”
Thoughtfully, Tessa glances around the parking lot,
surveying the surroundings, and I watch as the realization of
our location sinks in. “Fine.” She pouts again and climbs back
into the passenger seat.
“Look how the tables have turned.” I wince as her hand
cups me again and squeezes.
She sweetly smiles as if she didn’t just make a mild attempt
to castrate me. “Just drive.”
“I’ll run every red light so I can get you home and give you
your fix,” I tease her.
She rolls her eyes and rests her head against the window.
By the time we reach the next red light, she’s fast asleep. I
reach over to make sure she’s still warm; tiny drops of sweat
bead her forehead in her sleep, making me cut the heat off
immediately. Deciding to enjoy the soft noises of her muted
slumber, I take the long way back to Vance’s house.
I GENTLY SHAKE her shoulder to wake her. “Tessa, we’re
back.”
Her eyes pop open, and she blinks rapidly to assess her
location. “It’s already so late?” she asks, glancing at the clock
on her dashboard.
“There was traffic,” I say.
Truth is, I drove around the city, trying to find whatever it
is that has her so captivated. It was a lost cause. I couldn’t find
it through the freezing air. Or the bumper-to-bumper traffic. Or
the drawbridge causing that traffic. The only thing that made
sense to me was the sleeping girl in my car. Despite the
hundreds of buildings that line and light up the skyline, she’s
the only thing that could make this city worth a damn.
“I’m still so tired . . . I think I ate too much.” She half
smiles and pushes me away when I offer to carry her to her
room.
She lumbers like a zombie through Vance’s house, and the
moment her head hits the pillow, she’s asleep again. I carefully
undress her and pull the duvet over her half-naked body,
laying my worn T-shirt next to her head in hopes that she’ll
pull it on when she wakes.
I stare over at her. Her lips are parted slightly, and her arms
are wrapped around one of mine like she’s holding a soft
pillow instead of a hard arm. It can’t be comfortable for her,
but she’s sound asleep, holding on to me as if she’s afraid I’ll
disappear.
I think, maybe, if I continue to not be a fuckup during the
week, I’ll be rewarded with times like this every weekend, and
that’s enough for me to hold on to until she can see how
devoted I am to improving myself for her.
“HOW MANY TIMES are you going to call me?” I bark
through the line. My phone has been buzzing all night and
morning with my mum’s name flashing on the screen. Tessa
keeps waking up and, in turn, waking me up. I swear I put the
damn thing on silent the last time.
“You should have answered! I have something important to
talk to you about.” Her voice is soft, and I can’t remember the
last time I spoke to her.
“Get to it, then,” I groan and instinctively lean up to turn
the lamp on. The light from the small lamp is much too bright
for this early hour, so I tug the string and return the room to its
original state of darkness.
“Well, here goes . . .” She lets out a deep breath. “Mike and
I are going to be married.” She squeals into the phone, and I
move the device from my ear for a moment to save my
hearing.
“Okay . . .” I say, expecting more.
“Aren’t you surprised?” she questions, obviously
disappointed in my reaction.
“He told me he was going to ask you, and I figured you’d
say yes. What is there to be surprised about?”
“He told you?”
“Yeah,” I say, looking at the dark, rectangular shapes of
some photos hanging on the wall.
“Well, what do you think about it?”
“Does it matter?” I ask her.
“Of course it matters, Hardin.” My mum sighs, and I sit up
fully. Tessa stirs in her sleep and reaches for me.
“I don’t care either way. I was a little surprised, but what do
I care if you get married?” I whisper, wrapping my legs around
Tessa’s smooth legs.
“I’m not asking for your permission. I just wanted to see
how you felt about the whole thing so I could tell you the
reason I’ve been calling you all morning.”
“I’m fine with it, now tell me.”
“As you know, Mike thought it would be a good idea to sell
the house.”
“And?”
“Well, it’s sold. The new owners won’t be moving in until
next month, until after the wedding.”
“Next month?” I rub my temples with my index finger. I
knew I shouldn’t have picked up the damn phone this early.
“We were going to wait until next year, but neither of us is
getting any younger, and with Mike’s son going off to
university, there’s no better time than now. It should start
warming up in the next few months, but we don’t want to wait.
It may be chilly, but it won’t be unbearable. You’ll come,
won’t you? And bring Tessa?”
“So the wedding is next month, or in two weeks?” My brain
doesn’t function this fucking early.
“Two weeks!” she responds with glee.
“I don’t think I can . . .” I trail off. It’s not that I don’t want
to join the joyous festivities of a requited love and all that shit,
but I don’t want to go all the way to England, and I know
Tessa isn’t going to come along on such short notice,
especially given the state of our relationship right now.
“Why not? I’ll ask her myself if I—”
“No, you won’t.” I cut her off. Realizing that I’m being a
little harsh, I backtrack. “She doesn’t even have a passport.”
It’s an excuse, but a truthful one.
“She can get one within two weeks if they expedite it.”
I sigh. “I don’t know, Mum, give me a little time to think
about it. It’s seven in the damn morning.” I groan and end the
call, then realize I didn’t even say congratulations. Fuck. Well,
it’s not like she expected it from me necessarily.
From down the hall, I hear someone scavenging through
fucking cabinets. I pull the thick duvet over my head to drown
out the noise of slamming and the obnoxious beeping of a
dishwasher, but the noises don’t abate. The cacophony
continues until I guess I just fall asleep in spite of it.
chapter
one hundred and four
HARDIN
It’s a little past eight, and I can see through the living room to
the kitchen, where Tessa is fully dressed, eating breakfast with
Kimberly.
Shit, it’s Monday already. She has to go to work, and I have
to drive back to school. I’ll miss today’s classes, but I couldn’t
care less. I’ll have my diploma in less than two months.
“Are you going to wake him up?” Kimberly asks Tessa just
as I walk in.
“I’m up.” I groan, still groggy from sleep. I slept more
peacefully last night than I have all week. My first night here
we were up nearly the entire night.
“Hey.” Tessa’s smile lights up the dim room, and Kimberly
covertly slides off the high stool she’s sitting on and leaves us
alone. Which means she’s set a new record for not annoying
me.
“How long have you been up?” I ask Tessa.
“Two hours. Christian said I could have an extra hour, since
you weren’t awake.”
“You should have woken me up earlier.” My eyes greedily
rake down her body. She’s dressed in a deep red button-down
shirt tucked into a solid black, knee-length pencil skirt. The
material hugs her hips in a way that makes me want to bend
her over the stool, push her skirt up to reveal her panties—lace
panties, perhaps—and take her right here, right now . . .
She calls me out from my thoughts. “What?”
The front door closes, and I’m relieved that we’re finally
alone in the massive house.
“Nothing,” I lie and walk over to the half-full coffeepot.
“You’d think they’d have a Keurig, rich bastards.”
Tessa laughs at my remark. “I’m glad they don’t. I hate
those things.” She leans on her elbows on the kitchen island,
and her hair falls down to frame her face.
“Me, too.” I glance around the spacious kitchen and back to
Tessa’s chest as she stands up straight. “What time do you
have to leave?” I ask. She crosses her arms in front of her
chest, blocking my view.
“Twenty minutes.”
“Dammit.” I sigh, and we both bring our coffee mugs to our
mouths at the same time.
“You should have woken me up. Tell Vance you’re not
coming in.”
“No!” She blows at the steaming cup of coffee in her hand.
“Yes.”
“No,” she says with a firm voice. “I can’t take advantage of
my personal relationship with him like that.” Her choice of
words sends an unwelcome annoyance through me.
“It’s not a ‘personal relationship.’ You’re staying here
because you’re friends with Kimberly, and ultimately because
I introduced you to Vance in the first place,” I remind her,
fully aware of just how annoyed she gets when I bring this up
with her.
Her blue-gray eyes roll back dramatically, and she strides
across the rich hardwood flooring, her heels clicking loudly as
she passes me. My fingers hook around her elbow, halting her
dramatic exit.
I pull her to my chest and press my lips against the base of
her throat. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To my room to grab my bag,” she says. But the heavy
rising and falling of her chest completely contradicts her cool
tone and cooler gaze.
“Tell him you need more time,” I demand, barely brushing
my lips over the flushed skin below her neck. She tries to
appear unaffected by my touch, but I know better. I know her
body better than she does.
“No.” She makes a minimal effort to pull away, just to be
able to tell herself that she did. “I don’t want to take advantage
of him. They’re already letting me stay here for free.”
I’m not budging. “I’ll call him, then,” I say. He doesn’t
need her at the office today. He already has her three days a
week. I need her more than Vance Publishing does.
“Hardin . . .” She reaches for my hand before I can dig into
my pocket to retrieve my cell phone. “I’ll call Kim.” She
frowns, and I’m surprised and very grateful that she gave in so
quickly.
chapter
one hundred and five
TESSA
Kim. Hey, it’s Tessa. I was—”
“Go ahead.” She cuts me off. “I already told Christian you
probably wouldn’t be in today.”
“I’m sorry for asking. I—”
“Tessa, it’s fine. We get it.” The sincerity in her voice
makes me smile despite my annoyance with Hardin. It’s nice
to finally have a female friend. The weight of Steph’s betrayal
is something I’m having a hard time lifting from my chest. I
look around my temporary bedroom and remind myself that
I’m hours away from her, from that campus, from all the
friends I thought I had made during my first semester at
college, all of them fakes. This is my life now. Seattle is where
I belong, and I’ll never have to see Steph or any of them again.
“Thank you so much,” I tell her.
“You don’t have to thank me. Just remember that all the
main rooms in the house are under surveillance.” Kimberly
laughs. “I’m sure that after the gym incident you wouldn’t
forget that.”
My eyes dart up to Hardin as he enters the bedroom.
His expectant grin and the way those dark blue jeans hang
low on his hips distract me from Kimberly’s words. I have to
scramble to remember what she said only seconds ago.
The gym? Oh God. My blood runs cold, and Hardin stalks
toward me.
“Um, yeah,” I mumble, holding my hand up to stop Hardin
from coming any closer.
“Have fun.” Kimberly ends the call.
“They have cameras in the gym! They saw us!” I say,
panicking.
Hardin shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “They turned them off
before they saw anything.”
“Hardin! They know we . . . you know, in their gym!” My
hands fly through the air in front of me. “I’m so mortified!” I
cover my face with my hands, but Hardin quickly removes
them.
“They didn’t see anything. I spoke to them already. Calm
down. Don’t you think I would’ve lost my shit if he’d actually
seen anything on tape?”
I relax, slightly. He’s right; he would’ve been much more
upset than he appears to be right now, but that doesn’t mean
that I’m not completely humiliated by the fact that they know,
even if they did stop the tape.
But wait, what does “tape” even mean here—everything’s
digital. And they could have just said they stopped the cameras
but really all they did was just look away . . .
“The footage . . . it’s not saved anywhere or anything,
right?” I can’t help but ask the question. My fingertip traces
over the small cross tattoo on Hardin’s hand.
Hardin lowers his eyes at me defensively. “What is that
supposed to mean?”
Hardin’s . . . old hobbies flash through my mind. “That’s
not what I meant,” I say quickly. Maybe too quickly.
“You sure?” he asks. I watch as his features harden and his
eyes fill with guilt. “I mean, how would you know what I was
worried you were thinking about if you hadn’t already been
thinking about it yourself?”
“Don’t,” I say strongly and close the small space between
us.
“Don’t what?” he asks.
I can read his thoughts in this moment; I can see him
reliving the terrible things he has done. “Don’t do that; don’t
go back there.”
“I can’t help it.” He rubs his hand down his face in a slow
yet frenzied motion. “Is that what you were thinking? That I
knew about the tape, and that I let him watch it?”
“What? No! I would never think that,” I say honestly. “I
only connected the tape from the gym to . . . to what happened
before when you said something. It just reminded me of that—
I never thought you were doing that now.” My fingers wrap
around the tattered neckline of his black T-shirt. “I know you
would never show anyone a tape of me.” I stare into his eyes,
willing him to believe me.
“If anyone ever did something like that to you . . .” He
takes a long pause and a deep breath. “I don’t know what I
would do to them, even if it was Vance,” he grimly admits.
Hardin’s temper is something I’ve grown very familiar with
over the last six months.
I stand on my tiptoes so I can look him in the eyes. “It
won’t happen.”
“Something terrible almost did, though, only last week with
Steph and Dan.” A shudder shakes his shoulders, and I
desperately search for the right thing to say to him to pull him
out of this dark place.
“Nothing happened.” The irony of my being the one to
comfort him now, when the trauma was actually something
that happened to me, isn’t lost on me; but this role reversal
speaks true to the nature of our relationship and Hardin’s need
to blame himself for things he can’t control. Just like his
mother, just like me. I can see this now.
“If he had been inside you . . .”
The words bring back vague flashes of memory from that
night, images of Dan’s fingers running up my thigh, of Steph
pulling at my dress.
“I don’t want to discuss the hypothetical.” I lean into him,
and his arms wrap around my waist, caging me, protecting me
from bad memories and nonexistent threats.
He glowers. “We’ve barely discussed it at all.”
“I don’t want to. We talked about it enough at my mother’s
house, and this is not how I want to spend my newly cleared
afternoon.” I give him the best smile I can manage in a failed
attempt to lighten the mood.
“I couldn’t bear anyone hurting you like that. I hate the
thought of him violating you. It makes me murderous—all I
see is red. I can’t handle it.” Hardin’s angry expression has not
lightened, only intensified. His green eyes burn into mine, and
the rough grip of his fingers tightens on the span of my hips.
“Let’s not talk about it, then. I want you to try and forget it,
like I have.” I caress his back with my fingers, gently begging
him to forget the whole thing. It won’t do either of us any
good to harp on it. It was terrible and disgusting, but I won’t
let it rule me. “I love you—I love you so, so much.”
His mouth catches mine, and I wrap my fingers around his
arms, pulling him closer to me.
Between breaths, I say, “So focus on me, Hardin. Only on
m—”
I’m interrupted by the pressure of his mouth on mine again,
possessing me, proving his commitment to both me and
himself. His tongue is hard, pushing through my lips to
massage mine. Hardin’s fingertips dig into my hips even
further, and I whimper as his hands glide up my stomach to
my chest. He cups my breasts, and I push into his body harder,
filling his greedy hands.
“Show me that it’s only me,” he whispers into my mouth,
and I know exactly what he wants, what he needs.
I drop to my knees in front of him and hastily tug at the
lone button on his jeans. The zipper proves to be more of a
problem, and I briefly consider ripping the jagged metal lining
and destroying it altogether. However, I can’t bring myself to
do this, considering how hot he looks in the tight blue jeans.
My fingertips slowly graze over the light dusting of hair
leading from his navel to the waistband of his boxers, and he
groans impatiently.
“Please,” he begs, “no teasing.”
I give a small nod and pull down his boxers, letting them
pool at his calves atop the bunched-up jeans. Hardin groans
once more, this time much louder, much more primal, and I
take him into my mouth. Slow movements and flicks of my
tongue say the things that I try to instill in his paranoid mind,
reassuring him that these acts of pleasure are different from
anything someone could force me into.
I love him. I’m aware that what I’m doing now may not be
the healthiest way to handle his anger and anxiety, but my
need for him is stronger than my moral compass, which, at the
moment, is smugly waving a self-help book in front of my
face.
“I fucking love that I’m the only man who has had your
mouth,” he groans as I use one hand to take what my mouth
cannot. “Those lips have only been wrapped around me.” A
quick movement of his hips makes me gag, and he reaches
down to run his thumb along my forehead. “Look at me,” he
instructs.
And I happily comply. I’m enjoying this just as much as he
is. I always do. I love the way his eyelids fall closed with each
long stroke of my tongue against him. I love the way he grunts
and groans when I add more suction.
“Fuck, you know exactly . . .” His head rolls back, and I
can feel the muscles in his legs tightening under my hand,
which I’ve rested on him to steady myself. “I’m the only man
who you’ll ever be on your knees in front of . . .”
I press my thighs together to relieve some of the tension his
filthy mouth arouses in me. Hardin uses one hand to steady
himself against the wall as my mouth brings him closer and
closer to his high. I keep my eyes on his, knowing that it
drives him absolutely crazy to watch me as I enjoy pleasuring
him so much. His free hand moves down from the top of my
head to my mouth, and he runs the pad of his thumb across my
top lip, moving in and out of my mouth at a quickening pace.
“Fuck, Tess.” His body goes rigid as he tells me how good
it feels, how much he loves me, while he climbs closer to
release. I take all of him, moaning while he’s filling my mouth
—and he groans, emptying himself on my tongue. I keep
sucking, milking every drop of his release as he softly rubs my
cheek with his thumb.
I lean into his touch, reveling in its tenderness, and he
gently helps me to my feet. The moment I’m standing next to
him, he’s pulling me into his arms, hugging me in an intimate
gesture that almost overwhelms me.
“I’m sorry for dragging all that shit up,” he whispers into
my hair.
“Shh,” I whisper back, not wanting to backtrack to the dark
conversation we left behind only minutes ago.
“Bend over the bed, baby,” Hardin says, and it takes me a
moment to register his words. He doesn’t give me an
opportunity to respond before he’s gently pushing his palm
against the small of my back, guiding me to the edge of the
mattress. His hands grip my thighs, pushing my skirt up my
legs until my entire behind is bared to him.
I want him so badly that it physically hurts. An ache that
only he can soothe. As I move to step out of my shoes, he
presses his palm against my back again.
“No, leave them on,” he growls.
I groan as my panties are pushed to the side and he slides a
finger inside of me. He steps closer, his legs nearly touching
mine, his cock softly teasing the back of my legs.
“So soft, baby, so warm.” He adds another finger, and I
groan, leaning all my weight onto my elbows on the mattress.
My back arches when he finds a rhythm, steadily entering me,
dragging his long fingers into and out of me.
“Your sounds are so sexy, Tess,” he coos, closing the gap
between our bodies so I feel his hard cock pressing against me.
“Please, Hardin.” I groan, needing him now. Within
seconds he fills me in the way that only he has and only he
ever will. I lust for him, but it’s nothing compared to the
overwhelming, all-consuming, judgment-altering love that I
have for him, and I know deep down—deep in the depth of me
that only he and I can see—that it will always be only him.
LATER, AS WE’RE LYING IN bed, Hardin whines, “I don’t
want to go,” and in a very un-Hardin-like gesture, he leans his
head down and buries it in my shoulder, wrapping his arms
and legs around my body. His thick hair tickles my skin. I try
to tame it with my fingers, but there is simply too much of it.
“I need a haircut,” he announces, as if answering my
thoughts.
“I like it this way.” I gently tug at the damp strands.
“You wouldn’t tell me if you didn’t,” he says, calling me
out. He’s right, but only because I couldn’t imagine a hairstyle
on Hardin that wouldn’t flatter him. Still, I do happen to love
his hair this length.
“Your phone is ringing again,” I point out, and he lifts his
head to shoot me a glare. “Something could be wrong with my
father, and I’m trying my best not to freak out, and I really
want to trust you, so please just answer it,” I rattle out.
“If it’s something with your father, Landon can handle it,
Tessa.”
“Hardin, you know how hard it is for me not—?”
“Tessa,” he says to silence me, but then he climbs off the
bed and retrieves the vibrating phone from the desk.
“See, it’s my mum.” He holds the screen up so the word
“Trish” is clear from where he stands. I really wish he’d listen
to me and change her entry to “Mom” in his phone, but he
refuses. Baby steps, I remind myself.
“Answer it! It could be an emergency.” I climb off the bed
and try to grab the phone from his quick hands.
“She’s fine. She’s been pestering me all morning.” Hardin
childishly holds the phone up over my head.
“About what?” I ask him and watch as he turns the power
off on the device.
“Nothing important. You know how annoying she can be.”
“She’s not annoying,” I say in Trish’s defense. She’s very
sweet, and I love her sense of humor. Something which her
son could use more of.
“You’re just as annoying as she is; I knew you would say
that.” He grins. His long fingers reach out to tuck my hair
behind my ears.
I give him a fake evil eye. “You’re being awfully charming
today. Aside from calling me annoying just now, of course.”
I’m not complaining, but given our history, I’m afraid that this
behavior will disappear when our blissful weekend has ended.
“Would you prefer me to be an asshole?” He raises a brow.
I smile, enjoying his playful behavior, no matter how
briefly it lasts.
chapter
one hundred and six
HARDIN
As if the long-ass drive through the freezing rain wasn’t
pleasant enough, when I get back to my apartment, I’m
bombarded with a disturbing image of Tessa’s dad sprawled
out on my couch, wearing my clothes. My cotton pajama pants
and black T-shirt are way too tight on him, and I can literally
taste the bagel Tessa fed me this morning rising in the back of
my throat, just begging to be regurgitated onto the concrete
floor.
“How is Tessie doing?” Richard asks me the moment I
walk in the door.
“Why are you wearing my clothes, again?” I groan, not
necessarily expecting an answer from the man but knowing
I’m going to get one anyway.
“I only have that one shirt you gave me, and I couldn’t get
the smell out of it,” he replies, rising to his feet.
“Where’s Landon?”
“Landon’s in the kitchen.” My stepbrother’s voice carries
into the living room from behind me. A moment later he joins
us, a dish towel in his hands. Drops of soap fall to the floor,
and I scowl at him for not making Richard do the damn dishes.
“So how is she?” he asks.
“She’s good. Fuck. In case anyone was wondering, I’m
good, too,” I gripe.
The apartment is much cleaner than it was when I left it.
The stacks of shitty manuscripts that I had planned to throw
away are now gone, the tower of empty water bottles I had
built on the coffee table is nowhere to be seen, and even the
dust mound that I’ve grown used to watching grow has
disappeared from the corners of the television stand.
“What the fuck happened in here?” I ask both of them. My
patience is wearing too thin, given that I’ve only been in this
apartment for a couple of minutes.
“If you mean what happened, as in why did we clean the
place—” Landon begins, but I cut him off.
“Where’s all my shit?” I pace across the floor. “Did I ask
either of you to touch any of my shit?” My fingers move to
pinch the bridge of my nose, and I take a deep breath in an
attempt to control my sudden anger. Why would they just
clean my fucking apartment without asking me first?
I look back and forth between the two of them before
stalking off to my bedroom.
“Someone’s in a mood,” I hear Richard remark just as I
reach the door.
“Just ignore him . . . he misses her,” Landon quickly says.
As a fuck-you to both of them, I slam the door as loudly as
possible.
Landon is right. I know he is. I could feel it as I drove away
from that damned city, away from her. I could feel every single
tendon and muscle in my body tighten the farther I got from
her. Every single fucking mile widened the gaping hole inside
of me. A hole that only she can fill.
Cursing at every asshole on the highway helped maintain
my temper at a slow burn, but it wasn’t going to suffice for
long. I should have stayed in Seattle a few more hours,
convinced her to take the week off and come home with me.
With the way she was dressed, I shouldn’t have given her a
choice.
The more I sink into my thoughts, the more I find myself
visualizing her half-naked body. Her skirt was bunched up
around her waist, creating the sexiest sight. As I rocked into
her repeatedly, she promised not to forget me during the long
week ahead and told me how much she loved me.
The more I think about the way she kissed me and then
kissed me again, the more agitated I become.
My need for her is stronger than it’s ever been. It’s lust and
love melted together—no, the need I have for her goes much
deeper than lust. The way we’re connected while making love
is indescribable, the sounds she makes, the way I’m reminded
that I’m the only man who has ever made her feel that way. I
love her and she loves me, end of fucking story.
“Hey,” I say into the receiver, having called her before I
even realized what I was doing.
“Hey. Is something wrong?” she asks.
“No.” I look around my bedroom. My newly tidied
bedroom. “Yes.”
“What’s wrong? Are you home?”
No, it’s not home. You’re not here. “Yeah, and your fucking
dad and Landon are on my last fucking nerve.”
She lets out a little chuckle. “It’s been, what, like probably
ten minutes you’ve been home. What did they do already?”
“They cleaned the entire apartment, moved all my shit
around. I can’t find anything.” I wish there was a dirty shirt on
the floor or something I could kick.
“What’re you looking for?” she asks, but in the background
I hear another voice on her end.
It takes everything I have not to ask her who the hell she’s
with. “Nothing specific,” I admit. “But what I’m saying is that
if I did want to find something, I wouldn’t be able to.”
She laughs. “So you’re mad that they cleaned up the
apartment and you can’t find something you’re not even
looking for?”
“Yeah,” I say with a grin. I’m being a fucking baby, and I
know it. She knows it, too, but instead of chastising me, she
giggles.
“You should go to the gym.”
“I should drive back to Seattle and fuck you over your bed.
Again,” I fire back. She gasps, and the sound resonates deep
inside me, making the need for her stronger.
“Um, yeah,” she whispers.
“Who’s with you?” I lasted about forty seconds there.
Progress.
“Trevor and Kim,” she replies slowly.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Fucking Trevor is always
around. He’s becoming more of a nuisance than Zed, and
that’s saying a fucking lot.
“Har-din . . .” I can tell she’s uncomfortable, and she
doesn’t want to explain herself in front of them.
“Ther-esa.”
“I’m going to go to my room for a minute.” She politely
excuses herself, and while I listen to her breathing, I grow
more and more impatient.
“Why is fucking Trevor at your house?” I say, sounding
more like a lunatic than I’d planned on.
“This isn’t my house,” she reminds me.
“Yeah, well, you live there and—”
She interrupts me. “You should go to the gym; you’re
obviously wound up.” I can hear the concern in her voice, and
the silence that follows proves her point. “Please, Hardin.”
There’s no way I can say no to her. “I’ll call you when I get
back,” I agree and hang up the phone.
I CAN’T SAY that I didn’t see fucking Trevor’s fucking
annoying, model-fucking-like face imprinted on the black bag
as I kicked, punched, kicked, punched for two hours straight.
But I also can’t say that it helped, not really. I’m still . . . just
revved up. I don’t even know why I’m annoyed except that
Tessa isn’t here and I’m not there.
Fuck, this is going to be a long week.
A text from Tessa is waiting for me when I reach my car. I
hadn’t expected to work out for so long, but I clearly needed
it.
Been trying to stay awake but I’m worn out ;) her message reads. I’m
thankful for the darkness outside that conceals the stupid-ass
grin on my face from her corny innuendo. She’s so damn
endearing without even trying.
I nearly ignore a message from Landon reminding me that
I’m running low on groceries. I haven’t bought actual
groceries for myself since . . . ever. When I lived in the frat
house I just ate the shit that other people bought.
However, Tessa may be upset if she finds out I’m not
feeding her dad, and Landon won’t hesitate to tattle on me . . .
Somehow I find myself pulling into Target instead of
Conner’s for groceries. Tessa is clearly influencing me without
even being here. She spends just as much time at Conner’s as
she does at Target, even though she can go on for hours
explaining to me why Target is much better than any other
store. She even expresses this while we’re in the middle of
Conner’s. It annoys the shit out me, but I’ve learned to nod at
the exact right moments to make her think I’m listening and
partly agreeing with her.
Just as I toss a box of Frosted Flakes into a shopping cart, a
flash of red hair appears at the end of the aisle. I know it’s
Steph before she turns around. Her skanky thigh-high black
boots with red laces are a dead giveaway.
Quickly, I go over the two options here. One, I can walk
over and remind her what a stupid fucking . . .
She turns to face me before I can go over the second option,
which I probably would have preferred.
“Hardin! Wait!” Steph’s voice sounds loud when I turn on
my heel and leave the cart in the middle of the aisle.
Regardless of the hard workout I just completed, there’s no
way that I could possibly control myself around Steph. No
fucking way.
I can hear the heavy thud of her boots against the laminate
floor as she follows me despite my obvious attempt at
avoiding her.
“Listen to me!” she yells when she gets right behind me.
When I stop walking, she collides with my back and falls to
the floor.
I spin and growl at her. “What the fuck do you want?”
She quickly scrambles to her feet. I notice that her black
dress is now dusted white from the dirty floor.
“I thought you were in Seattle.”
“I am, just not at the moment,” I lie. I’m not sure what
possessed me to even try to keep a front up with her, but it’s
too late to backtrack now.
“I know you hate me now,” she begins.
“First smart thought you’ve had in a while,” I snap out,
then get a good look at her. Her green eyes are nearly
nonexistent what with the thick lines of black circling them.
She looks like shit.
“I’m not in the mood for your crap,” I warn her.
“You never have been.” She smiles.
I clench my fists at my sides. “I don’t have shit to say to
you, and you know how I get when I don’t want to be
bothered.”
“You’re threatening me? Really?” She raises her arms in
front of her, then drops them back down. I stay quiet as images
of a barely conscious Tessa swarm my mind. I need to get
away from Steph. I would never hurt her physically, but I
know all the shit to say to cut her much deeper than anything
she could imagine. It’s one of my many talents.
“She isn’t good for you,” Steph has the nerve to say.
I can’t help but laugh at the audacity of this bitch. “You
aren’t stupid enough to try to discuss this with me.”
But Steph has never been anything if not sure of herself.
Full of herself. “You know it’s true. She isn’t enough for you,
and you’re never going to be enough for her.” The heat inside
me turns from a simmer to a raging boil as she continues:
“You’re going to get bored with her prudish behavior, and you
know it. You’re probably already bored.”
“Prudish?” I bark another laugh. She doesn’t know the
Tessa who likes to be fucked in front of a mirror and fucks
herself on my fingers until she screams my name.
Steph nods. “And she’ll get over this bad-boy fetish she’s
got with you and marry a banker or some shit. You can’t be
stupid enough to think she’s in this for the long run. I know
you saw how she was with Noah, that douche bag made of
cardigans. They were like the poster couple for people who
belong together, and you know it. You can’t compete with
that.”
“And what? You’re implying that you and I would be
better?” My voice comes out sounding much less demanding
than I planned. She’s prying at my biggest insecurities, and
I’m trying my best not to falter.
She rolls her raccoon eyes. “No, of course not.”
“I know you don’t want me—you never did. My point is, I
care about you,” she says. I look away from her to scan the
empty aisles. “I know you don’t want to believe me, and I
know you want to wring my neck for messing with your
Virgin Mary, but in that dark heart of yours, you know what
I’m saying is true.”
I bite the inside of my cheek at the nickname that my so-
called friends branded Tessa with early on.
“Deep down, you know it won’t work. She’s too silver
spoon for you. You’re covered in ink, and it’s only a matter of
time before she’s sick of being embarrassed to be seen with
you.”
“She’s not embarrassed to be seen with me.” I take a step
toward the redheaded harpy.
“You know she is. She even told me she was when you two
first started dating. I’m sure that hasn’t changed.” She smiles;
her nose ring glistens under the lighting, and I cringe at the
memory of her hands touching me, making me come.
I swallow back bile and speak. “You’re trying to
manipulate me—because that’s all you have to work with—
and I’m not buying it.” I push past her.
She croaks out a gross little laugh. “If you were enough for
her, then why did she run to Zed so many times? You know
what people were saying.”
I stop dead in my tracks. I remember Tessa coming back
from that lunch with Steph. She was so upset after she left
Applebee’s the day that Steph brought Molly along, and the
two of them hinted to Tessa that there were rumors going
around that she fucked Zed. I was enraged enough to call
Molly and warn her not to fucking try to come between Tessa
and me. Steph obviously didn’t get the message, even though
it was her I needed to worry about the entire time.
“You made up those rumors,” I accuse.
“No . . . Zed’s roommate did. He’s the one who heard her
moaning his name and heard Zed’s bed smacking against the
wall while he was trying to sleep. Annoying, right?” Steph’s
malevolent grin snaps every bit of self-control I’ve managed to
hang on to since Tessa left for Seattle.
I need to walk away now. I need to walk away now.
“Zed said she was nice and tight, though, and apparently
she does this . . . like, thing with her hips or something. Oh,
and that freckle . . . you know the one.” Her black nails tap
against her chin.
I can’t handle it.
“Shut up!” I cover my ears with my hands. “Shut the fuck
up!” I scream through the aisle, and Steph backs away, still
grinning.
“Believe me or not.” She shrugs. “I don’t care, but you
know it’s a waste of time. She’s a waste of time.”
She sneers, disappearing just as my fist connects with metal
shelving.
chapter
one hundred and seven
HARDIN
Boxes fall from the shelves and tumble onto the floor in a
blur. I connect with the metal again, leaving a thick red stain
behind. The familiar sting of splitting flesh across my
knuckles only heightens the rush of my adrenaline, pushing
me further into my rage. It’s almost soothing, the relief of
allowing myself to express my anger in the way I’ve always
been used to. I don’t have to stop myself. I don’t have to
overthink my actions. I can surrender to the anger, let it spill
out, allow it to pull me under.
“What are you doing! Someone come help!” a woman
yells.
When I snap my head her way, she takes a step backward
into the wide opening at the aisle’s end, and I notice a little
blond-haired girl clinging to her skirt. The woman’s eyes are
wide with fear and caution.
When the little girl’s bright blue eyes meet mine, I can’t
look away. The innocence in their depths is being stolen with
every angry breath that leaves my body. I break the hold of the
girl’s gaze and look toward the mess I’ve made in the aisle.
Disappointment replaces rage in an instant, and the realization
that I’m destroying shit in the middle of a Target hits me hard.
If the cops arrive before I can get out of here, I’m fucked.
With one last look toward the little girl in her floor-length
dress and sparkling shoes, I rush down the aisle and toward the
front of the store. Avoiding the chaos that is brewing around
me, I cross from aisle to aisle, staying as much out of sight as
possible.
I can’t think clearly. Not a single thought makes sense to
me.
Tessa didn’t fuck Zed.
She didn’t.
She couldn’t have.
I would know if she did. Someone would have told me.
She would have told me. She’s the only person I know who
doesn’t lie to me.
I burst outside, and the winter air is unforgiving as it bites
at my skin. I keep my eyes focused on my car, which is parked
toward the back of the lot, thankful to be shielded by the
darkness of the night.
“Fuck!” I scream once I reach my car. My boot collides
with my bumper and the grinding noise of metal bending out
of place ratchets up my feeling of frustration.
“She’s only been with me!” I say out loud, then hop inside
the car.
I’m pushing the key into the ignition just as two police cars
pull into the parking lot with lights blazing and sirens howling.
I pull out of the space slowly to avoid any unwanted attention
and watch as they park on the curb and rush inside like a
murder has been committed.
The moment I make it out of the parking lot, relief floods
through me. If I’d been arrested at Target, Tessa would have
flipped shit on me.
Tessa . . . and Zed.
I know better than to believe Steph’s bullshit lies about
Tessa fucking him. I know she didn’t. I know that I’m the only
man who has ever been inside of her, the only one who has
ever made her come. Not him.
Not fucking anyone. Only me.
I shake my head to rid myself of the vision of the two of
them, her fingers wrapped around his arms as he pushes into
her. Fuck, not this again.
I literally can’t think straight. I can’t see straight. I should
have wrapped my hands around Steph’s neck and . . .
No, I can’t allow myself to finish the thought. She got
exactly what she wanted out of me, and that makes me even
angrier. She knew exactly what she was doing when she
mentioned Zed; she was purposely taunting me, trying to make
me snap, and it worked. She knew she was pulling the pin
from a grenade and walking away. But I’m not a grenade—I
should be able to control myself.
I immediately call Tessa, but she doesn’t pick up. Her
phone rings . . . and rings . . . and rings. She did tell me that
she was going to sleep, but I know damn well that her phone is
always on vibrate and that woman can’t sleep through shit.
“Come on, Tess, pick up the phone,” I groan and toss my
cell onto the passenger seat. I need to get as far away from
Target as possible before the cops check the parking-lot
cameras and get my plate number or some shit.
The freeway is a fucking nightmare, and I keep trying to
call Tessa. If she doesn’t get back to me within the hour, I’m
calling Christian.
I should have stayed in Seattle another night. Hell, I should
have moved there in the fucking first place. All of my reasons
for not wanting to go seem so fucking pointless now. All of the
fears I had, and still have, are only being kept alive by the
distance between where she lives and where I live.
“Deep down you know it won’t work.”
“You’re covered in ink, and it’s only a matter of time before
she’s sick of being embarrassed to be seen with you.”
“Bad-boy fetish.”
“Marry a banker or some shit.”
Steph’s voice pierces my ears over and over again. I’m
going insane—I’m literally losing my fucking mind on this
wide-open road. All the efforts that I made all week mean
nothing now. The two days that I spent with Tessa have been
ruined by that viper.
Is all of this worth it? Is all of this constant trying worth it?
Will I always have to stop myself from saying or doing the
wrong shit? And if I do continue this potential transformation,
will she really love me after, or just feel like she finished some
kind of project for a psych class?
After all this, will there be enough of me left for her to
love? Will I even be the same man that she fell in love with, or
is this her way of transforming me into someone she wishes I
could be—someone she will tire of?
Is she trying to make me more like him . . . more like
Noah?
“You can’t compete with that . . .” Steph is right. I can’t
compete with Noah and the simple relationship Tessa shared
with him. She never had to worry about anything when she
was with him. They were good together. Good and simple.
He isn’t broken the way that I am.
I remember the days when I used to sit in my room and
wait hours for Steph to tell me when Tessa returned after she’d
spent some time with him. I interfered as much as I could and,
surprisingly enough, it worked out for me. She chose me over
him, over the boy she grew up loving.
The idea of Tessa telling Noah she loves him makes me
sick to my stomach.
“Bad-boy fetish . . .” I’m more than a fetish to Tessa. I have
to be. I’ve fucked more than my share of girls who were only
looking to frighten their daddies, but Tessa isn’t one of them.
She’s put up with enough shit from me to prove that.
My thoughts are jumbled and frantic, and I can’t keep up
with them.
Why am I letting Steph get inside my head? I shouldn’t
have listened to a word that bitch said. Now that I have,
though, I can’t get her words out of me. I wipe my bloody and
busted knuckles across the legs of my blue jeans and park the
car.
When I look up, I find myself parked in the lot at Blind
Bob’s. I’ve driven all the way here without so much as a
thought about it. I shouldn’t go inside . . . but I can’t stop
myself.
And behind the bar, I see an old . . . friend. Carly. Carly,
wearing minimal clothing and deep red lipstick.
“Well . . . well . . . well . . .” She grins at me.
“Save it.” I groan and slide onto a bar stool directly in front
of her.
“Not a chance.” She shakes her head, her blond ponytail
whipping back and forth. “The last time I served you, it
spiraled into one big drama-fest, and I have neither the time
nor the patience for a repeat performance tonight.”
The last time I was here, I got so shit-faced that Carly
forced me to spend the night on her couch, which only led to a
huge misunderstanding with Tessa, who got into a car accident
that day because of me. Because of the shit I bring into her
otherwise clean life.
“Your job is to get me a drink when I order one.” I point at
the bottle of dark whiskey on the shelf behind her.
“There’s a sign right there that states otherwise.” She leans
her elbows onto the bar top, and I sit back on my bar stool,
creating as much space between us as possible.
The small WE HAVE THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE TO ANYONE
is taped to the wall, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Easy on the ice, I don’t want it watered down.” I ignore
another of her eye rolls as she pushes herself up and grabs an
empty glass.
A thick stream of dark liquor pours into my glass, and
Steph’s voice replays again and again in my brain. This is the
only way to rid myself of her accusations and lies.
Carly’s voice breaks me from my daze. “She’s calling.”
Glancing down, I see the picture that I snapped while Tessa
was asleep this morning; it’s flashing on my phone’s screen.
“Fuck.” I instinctively push the glass away, spilling its
freshly poured contents onto the bar top. I ignore Carly’s high-
pitched cursing and leave the bar just as quickly as I arrived.
Outside, I swipe my thumb across the screen. “Tess.”
“Hardin!” she says, panicked. “Are you okay?”
“I called you so many times.” I let out a breath of relief at
the sound of her voice through the small speaker.
“I know, I’m sorry. I was asleep. Are you okay? Where are
you?”
“Blind Bob’s,” I admit. There’s no use in lying—she
always finds out the truth one way or another.
“Oh . . .” she barely whispers.
“I ordered a drink.” I may as well tell her everything.
“Only one?”
“Yes, and I didn’t get the chance to even taste it before you
called.” I can’t decide how I feel about that. Her voice is my
lifeline, but I can feel a thread of something calling me back to
the bar as well.
“That’s good, then,” she says. “Are you leaving there?”
“Yes, right now.” I pull the handle on my car door and
climb into the driver’s seat.
After a few beats, Tessa asks, “Why’d you go there? It’s
okay that you did . . . I’m just wondering why.”
“I saw Steph.”
She gasps. “What happened? Did you . . . did anything
happen?”
“I didn’t hurt her, if that’s what you mean.” I turn on my car
but keep it in park. I want to talk to Tessa without the
distraction of driving. “She said some shit to me that really . . .
it really set me off. I lost my temper in Target.”
“Are you okay? Wait, I thought you hated Target.”
“Out of all the things . . .” I begin.
“Sorry. I’m half asleep.” I can hear the smile in her voice,
but it’s quickly replaced by worry. “Are you okay? What did
she say?”
“She said that you fucked Zed,” I tell her. I don’t want to
repeat the other shit she said about Tessa and me not being
good for each other.
“What? You know that’s not true. Hardin, I swear nothing
happened between us that you don’t already—”
I tap a finger on the windshield, watching my fingerprints
accumulate. “She said his roommate heard you.”
“You don’t believe her, right? You couldn’t possibly believe
her, Hardin; you know me—you know I would have told you
if anyone else had touched me—” Her voice cracks, and my
chest aches.
“Shhh . . .” I shouldn’t have let her go on about it for so
long. I should have told her that I knew it wasn’t true, but
being the selfish bastard that I am, I needed to hear her say it.
“What else did she say?” She’s crying.
“Just bullshit. About you and Zed. And she played on every
fear and insecurity that I have about us.”
“Is that why you went to the bar?” There’s no judgment in
Tessa’s voice, only an understanding that I wasn’t expecting.
“I guess so.” I sigh. “She knew things. About your body . . .
things that only I should know.” A shiver rakes down my
spine.
“She was my roommate. She saw me change any number of
times, not to mention she’s the one who undressed me that
night,” she says with a sniffle.
Anger ripples through me again. The thought of Tessa,
unable to move while Steph forcefully undressed her . . .
“Don’t cry, please. I can’t bear it, not when you’re hours
away,” I beg her.
Now that Tessa’s soft voice is on the line, Steph’s words
seem to hold no truth, and the madness—the pure fucking
madness—that I felt only minutes ago has dissolved.
“Let’s talk about something else while I drive home.” I shift
my car into reverse and put Tessa on speakerphone.
“Okay, yeah . . .” she says, then hums a little while she
thinks. “Um, Kimberly and Christian invited me to join them
at their club this weekend.”
“You aren’t going.”
“If you would let me finish,” she scolds me. “But since you
will hopefully be here, and I knew you wouldn’t come along,
we agreed on me going Wednesday night instead.”
“What kind of club is open on a Wednesday?” I glance into
my rearview mirror, answering my own question. “I’m going,”
I say.
“Why? You don’t like clubs, remember?”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll go with you this weekend. I don’t want
you to go Wednesday.”
“I’m going on Wednesday. We can go again this weekend if
you’d like, but I already told Kimberly that I’m coming, and
there’s no reason that I shouldn’t.”
“I would rather you not go,” I say through my teeth. I’m
already on edge, and she’s testing me. “Or I can come
Wednesday, too,” I offer, trying my best to be reasonable.
“You don’t have to drive all the way here on Wednesday
when you’ll already be coming for the weekend.
“You don’t want to be seen with me?” The words are out
before I can stop them.
“What?” I hear the click of her lamp turning on in the
background. “Why would you say that? You know it’s not
true. Don’t let Steph in your head. That’s what this is about,
isn’t it?”
I pull into the parking lot of the apartment and park the car
before I respond. Tessa waits in silence for an explanation.
Finally I sigh. “No. I don’t know.”
“We have to learn to fight together, not against one another.
It shouldn’t be Steph versus you versus me. We have to be in
this together,” she continues.
“That’s not what I’m doing . . .”
She’s right. She’s always fucking right. “I’ll come on
Wednesday and stay until Sunday.”
“I have classes and work.”
“It sounds like you don’t want me to come.” My paranoia
seeps through my already broken confidence.
“Of course I do. You know I do.”
I savor the words; fuck, I miss her so much.
“Are you home yet?” Tessa asks just as I turn off the
ignition.
“Yes, I just got here.”
“I miss you.”
The sadness in her voice stops me in my tracks. “I miss you
too, baby. I’m sorry—I’m going crazy without you, Tess.”
“I am, too.” She sighs, and it makes me want to apologize
again.
“I’m a dumb-ass for not coming to Seattle with you in the
first place.”
Coughing sounds through the speaker. “What?”
“You heard me. I’m not repeating it.”
“Fine.” She finally stops coughing as I step onto the
elevator. “I know I couldn’t have heard you correctly anyway.”
“Anyway, what do you want me to do about Steph and
Dan?” I change the subject.
“What can you do?” she quietly asks.
“You don’t want me to answer that.”
“Nothing, then, just leave them be.”
“She’s probably going to tell everyone about tonight and
continue to spread the rumor about you and Zed.”
“I don’t live there anymore. It’s okay,” Tessa says, trying to
convince me. But I know how much a rumor like this will hurt
her feelings, whether she admits it or not.
“I don’t want to leave it alone,” I confess.
“I don’t want you getting in any trouble over them.”
“Fine,” I say, and then we exchange our good nights. She’s
not going to agree to my ideas on how to stop Steph, so I’ll
just drop it. I unlock the door to my apartment and walk in to
find Richard sprawled out asleep on the couch. Jerry
Springer’s voice fills the entire apartment. I turn the television
off and go straight to my bedroom.
chapter
one hundred and eight
HARDIN
The entire morning I’m dead on my feet. I don’t remember
walking into my first class, and I begin to wonder why I even
bother.
When I walk past the administration building, Nate and
Logan are standing at the bottom of the steps. I pull my hood
up and pass them by without a word. I have to get the hell
away from this place.
In a split-second decision, I turn back around and take the
steep flight of stairs up to the front of the building. My father’s
secretary greets me with the fakest smile I’ve seen in a while.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Ken Scott.”
“Do you have an appointment?” the woman sweetly asks,
knowing damn well that I don’t. Knowing damn well who I
am.
“Obviously not. Is my father in there or not?” I gesture to
the thick wooden door in front of me. The fogged glass in the
center of it makes it hard to tell if he’s inside.
“He’s in there, but he’s on a conference call at the moment.
If you have a seat, I’ll—”
I walk past her desk and go straight to his door. When I turn
the knob and push it open, my father’s head turns my way, and
he calmly raises a finger to ask me to give him a moment.
Being the polite gentleman that I am, I roll my eyes and
take a seat in front of his desk.
After another minute or so, my father returns the phone to
its base and rises to his feet to greet me. “I wasn’t expecting
you.”
“I wasn’t expecting to be here,” I admit.
“Is something wrong?” His eyes move to his closed door
behind me and back to my face.
“I have a question.” I rest my hands on his almost maroon
cherrywood desk and look up at him. Dark patches of stubble
are visible on his face, making it obvious that he hasn’t shaved
in a few days, and his white button-down shirt is slightly
wrinkled at the cuffs. I don’t think I’ve seen him wearing a
wrinkled shirt since I moved to America. This is a man who
comes to breakfast in a sweater vest and pressed khakis.
“I’m listening,” my father says.
The tension between us is abundant, but even so, I have to
struggle to remember the searing hate that I once felt toward
this man. I don’t know how to feel about him now. I don’t
think I’ll ever be able to forgive him completely, but holding
on to all that anger toward him simply takes too much fucking
energy. We’ll never have the relationship that he has with my
stepbrother, but it’s sort of nice to know that when I need
something from him, he usually tries his best to help. The
majority of the time, his help doesn’t get me anywhere, but the
effort is appreciated, somewhat.
“How hard do you think it will be for me to transfer to the
Seattle campus?”
His brow rises dramatically. “Really?”
“Yes. I don’t want your opinion, I want an answer.” I make
it clear that my sudden change of mind isn’t open for
discussion.
He eyes me thoughtfully before answering. “Well, it would
set your graduation back. You’re better off staying at my
campus for the remainder of this semester. By the time you
apply to transfer, register, and move to Seattle, it wouldn’t be
worth the hassle and time . . . logistically speaking.”
I sit back against the leather chair and stare at him.
“Couldn’t you help speed the process along?”
“Yes, but it would still put off your graduation date.”
“So basically I have to stay here.”
“You don’t have to”—he rubs the dark stubble on his chin
—“but it makes more sense for now. You’re so close.”
“I’m not attending that ceremony,” I remind him.
“I had hoped you changed your mind.” My father sighs, and
I look away.
“Well, I haven’t, so . . .”
“It’s a very important day for you. The last three years of
your life—”
“I don’t give a shit. I don’t want to go. I’m fine with having
my diploma mailed to me. I’m not going, end of discussion.”
My eyes travel up the wall behind him to focus on the frames
hanging heavily on the dark brown walls of his office. The
white-framed certificates and diplomas mark his
achievements, and I can tell by the way he proudly stares up at
them that they mean more to him than they ever would to me.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He continues to stare at the frames.
“I won’t ask again.” My father frowns.
“Why is it so important to you for me to go?” I dare to ask.
The hostility between us has thickened, and the air has
grown heavier, but my father’s features soften tremendously as
the moments of silence between us go by.
“Because”—he draws in a long breath—“there was a time,
a long time, when I wasn’t sure . . .”—another pause—“how
you would turn out.”
“Meaning?”
“Are you sure you have time to talk right now?” His eyes
move to my busted knuckles and bloodstained jeans. I know
he really means: Are you sure you’re mentally stable enough to
talk right now?
I knew I should have changed my jeans. I didn’t feel like
doing much of anything this morning. I literally rolled out of
bed and drove to campus.
“I want to know,” I sternly reply.
He nods. “There was a time when I didn’t think you’d even
graduate high school, you know, given the trouble you always
got into.”
Flashes of bar fights, burglarized convenience stores,
crying half-naked girls, complaining neighbors, and one very
disappointed mother play before my eyes. “I know,” I agree.
“Technically, I’m still into trouble.”
My father gives me a look that says he’s not at all pleased
to hear me being a little flippant over what was a substantial
headache for him. “Not nearly as much,” he says. “Not
since . . . her,” he adds softly.
“She causes most of my trouble.” I rub the back of my neck
with my hand, knowing I’m full of shit.
“I wouldn’t say that.” His brown eyes narrow, and his
fingers play with the top button of his vest. Both of us sit in
silence for a beat, unsure what to say. “I have so much guilt,
Hardin. If you hadn’t made it through high school and gone to
college, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”
“Nothing—you would have been living your perfect life
here,” I snap.
He flinches as if I’ve slapped him. “That’s not true. I only
want the best for you. I didn’t always show it, and I know that,
but your future is very important to me.”
“Is that why you had me accepted into WCU in the first
place?” We’ve never discussed the fact that I know he used his
position to get me into this damn school. I know he did. I
didn’t do shit in high school, and my transcripts prove it.
“That, and the fact that your mother was at her breaking
point with you. I wanted you to come here so I could get to
know you. You aren’t the same boy you were when I left.”
“If you wanted to know me, you should have stuck around
longer. And drunk less.” Fragments of memories that I’ve tried
so hard to forget push their way into my mind. “You left, and I
never had the chance to just be a boy.”
I used to occasionally wonder how it felt to be a happy
child with a strong and loving family. While my mum worked
from sunup to sundown, I would sit in the living room alone,
just staring at the dingy and slanted walls for hours. I would
make myself some shitty meal that was barely edible and
imagine that I was sitting at a table full of people who loved
me. They would laugh and ask how my day went. When I’d
get into a fight at school, I’d sometimes wish I had a father
around to either pat me on the back or bust my ass for starting
trouble.
Things got much easier for me as I grew up. Once I was a
teenager and I realized I could hurt people, everything was
easier. I could get back at my mum for leaving me alone while
she worked by calling her by her first name and denying her
the simple joy of hearing her only child say “I love you.”
I could get back at my father by not speaking to him. I had
one goal: to make everyone around me as miserable as I felt;
that way, I would finally fit in. I used sex and lies to hurt girls,
and made a game of it. That backfired when my mum’s friend
spent too much time around me; her marriage was ruined,
along with her dignity, and my mum was heartbroken that her
fourteen-year-old son had done such a thing.
Ken looks like he catches on, as if he knows exactly what
I’m thinking. “I know that, and I’m sorry for all the things you
were subjected to because of me.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” I push the chair
back and stand up.
My father stays seated, and I can’t help the thrill of power
that I get from standing over him this way. I feel so . . . above
him in every way possible. He’s haunted by his guilt and
regrets, and I’m finally coming to terms with mine.
“So much happened that you wouldn’t understand. I wish I
could tell you, but it wouldn’t change anything.”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’ve already
had a shitty day, and this is too much. I get it; you regret
leaving us and all that shit. I’m over it,” I lie, and he nods. It’s
not a full-on lie, really. I’m much closer to being over it than
I’ve ever been before.
When I reach the door, a thought pops into my mind, and I
turn around to face him. “My mum’s getting married. Did you
know that?” I ask out of curiosity.
From his blank stare and the way his brows lower, it’s clear
that he had no fucking clue.
“To Mike . . . you know, the neighbor guy?”
“Oh.” He frowns.
“In two weeks.”
“That soon?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Is that a problem or something?”
“No, not at all. I’m just a little surprised, that’s all.”
“Yeah; me, too.” I lean my shoulder against the doorframe
and watch as my father’s expression transforms from sullen to
relieved.
“Will you be attending?”
“No.”
Ken Scott rises to his feet and walks around his massive
desk to stand in front of me. I have to admit, I’m slightly
intimidated. Not by him, of course, but by the raw emotion in
his eyes when he says, “You have to go, Hardin. It will break
her heart if you don’t. Especially because she knows that you
attended my wedding to Karen.”
“Yeah, well, we both know why I attended yours. I didn’t
have a choice, and your wedding wasn’t halfway across the
damn planet.”
“It might as well have been, given how we never really
talked. You have to go. Tessa knows about it?”
Fuck. I hadn’t considered this.
“No, and you don’t need to tell her either. Or Landon; he
won’t keep his mouth shut if he knows.”
“Is there a reason that you’re hiding it from her?” he asks,
judgment filling his voice.
“It’s not that I’m hiding it. I just don’t want her to worry
about going. She doesn’t even have a passport. She’s never
even left the state of Washington.”
“You know she’ll want to go. Tessa loves England.”
“She’s never even been there!” I raise my voice and take a
deep breath in an attempt to calm myself down. It drives me
insane the way he acts as if she’s his own daughter, as if he
knows her better than I do.
“I won’t say anything,” he says, raising his hands slightly
as if to placate me.
I’m glad he doesn’t press the topic. I’ve done enough
talking already, and I’m fucking exhausted. I got absolutely no
sleep last night after I got off of the phone with Tessa. My
nightmares came back full fucking force, and I made myself
stay awake after I woke up dry-heaving for the third time.
“You should go by and see Karen soon. She was asking
about you last night,” he says just before I walk out of his
office.
“Um, yeah,” I mumble and close the door behind me.
chapter
one hundred and nine
TESSA
In class, the guy I’ve determined is a future politician leans
over and whispers to me, “Who did you vote for in the
election?”
I feel slightly uncomfortable around my new classmate.
He’s charming, too charming, and his dressy clothes and
brown skin make for a very distracting sight. He’s not
attractive in the same way that Hardin is, but he’s certainly
attractive, and he knows it.
“I didn’t,” I reply. “I wasn’t old enough to vote.”
He laughs. “Right.”
I didn’t really want to talk with him, but in the last few
minutes of class our professor instructed us to talk among
ourselves while he took a phone call. I’m relieved when the
clock strikes ten and it’s time to go.
The future politician’s attempt to continue making small
talk with me as we exit the classroom fails miserably, and after
a few seconds he dismisses himself and walks the other way.
I’ve been distracted all morning. I haven’t been able to stop
thinking about what Steph must have said to Hardin to get him
so worked up. I know he believed me about the rumors about
Zed, but whatever else it was that she said to him bothered him
enough that he didn’t want to repeat it.
I hate Steph. I hate her for what she did to me and for
getting into Hardin’s head and hurting him—by using me, in a
way. By the time I make it to my art history class, I’ve planned
ten different scenarios of how to murder that horrible girl in
my mind.
I sit next to Michael, the blue-haired boy from the first class
with the good sense of humor, and spend the entire hour of art
history laughing at his jokes, which is a good distraction from
my homicidal thoughts.
At last the day’s over, and I’m heading to my car. Right as I
reach it and start to climb in, my phone starts vibrating. I
expect it to be Hardin, but looking down, I see it’s not. I have
three text messages, two of which just showed up.
I decide to read my mother’s first: Call me. We need to talk.
Next is Zed’s. I take a deep breath before pressing the small
envelope-shaped button. I’ll be in Seattle Thurs-Sat. Let me know when
you’re free :)
I rub my temples, grateful that I saved Kimberly’s message
for last. Nothing she has to say could possibly be as stressful
as telling Zed that I take back my offer of seeing him or
having a conversation with my mother. Did you know Loverboy is
going to London next weekend?
I spoke too soon.
England? Why would Hardin be going to England? Is he
moving there after he graduates? I reread her text message . . .
Next weekend!
I rest my forehead against the steering wheel of my car and
close my eyes. My first instinct is to call him and ask him why
he’s hiding the trip from me. I stop myself from doing that
because this is the perfect opportunity for me to try not to
jump to conclusions without asking him first. There is a
chance, a small one, that Kimberly is mistaken and Hardin
isn’t going to England next weekend.
My chest tightens at the thought of him still wanting to
move back there. I’m still trying to convince myself that I’ll be
enough to keep him here.
chapter
one hundred and ten
HARDIN
It feels like ages since I’ve been at this place. I’d been driving
around for the last hour, going over the possible outcomes of
my coming here. After formulating a mental list of pros and
cons—something I never, ever do—I shut my car off and step
into the cold afternoon air.
I’m assuming he’s home; if not, I just wasted my entire
afternoon, and I’ll be even more irritated than I already am. I
glance around the parking lot and find his truck near the front.
The brown apartment building is set just off of the street, and a
rusty staircase leads up to the second floor, where his place is.
With each stomp of my boot against the metal staircase, I run
through the reasons why I’m here in the first place.
Just as I reach apartment C, my phone vibrates in my back
pocket. It’s either Tessa or my mum, neither of whom I want
to speak with right now. If I talk to Tessa, I’ll be thrown off
my plan. And my mum will just annoy me with her wedding
talk.
I knock on the door. Within seconds Zed answers, wearing
only drawstring pants. His feet are bare, and I notice the
intricate clockwork-and-gear tattoo that he showed me before
has spread further across his stomach. He must have gotten
more of it done after he tried to get with my fucking girl.
Zed doesn’t greet me. Instead, he just stares at me from the
doorway, a look of obvious shock and suspicion on his face.
“We need to talk,” I finally say and push past him to enter
his apartment.
“Should I call the cops?” he asks in that dry tone he gets.
I take a seat on his worn leather couch and stare up at him.
“That depends on whether you cooperate or not.”
Dark hair covers his jawline and frames his mouth. It feels
like months have passed since I saw him outside Tessa’s
mum’s house instead of only ten or so days.
He sighs and leans his back against the wall on the opposite
side of his small living room. “Well, get to it, then.”
“You know this is about Tessa.”
“I figured as much.” He frowns and crosses his tattooed
arms.
“You aren’t going to Seattle.”
He raises a thick brow before he smiles. “I am, though. I’ve
already made the plans.”
What the fuck? Why would he be going to Seattle? He’s
making this much harder than it needs to be, and I’m
beginning to kick myself in the ass for thinking this
conversation would end in any way except him leaving on a
stretcher.
“The thing is . . .” I breathe in a deep breath to keep myself
calm and stick to the plan. “You aren’t going to Seattle.”
“I’m visiting my friends there,” he answers, challenging
me.
“Bullshit. I know exactly what you’re doing,” I bite back.
“I’m staying with some friends in Seattle, but in case you
were wondering, she did invite me to visit her.”
The moment the words leave his mouth, I’m on my feet.
“Don’t push me—I’m trying to do this the right way. You have
no reason to visit her. She’s mine.”
He raises one brow. “Do you realize how that sounds?
Saying she’s yours like she’s your property?”
“I don’t give a fuck how it sounds; it’s true.” I take another
step toward him. The air between us has shifted from tense to
downright primal. Both of us are trying to stake a claim here,
and I’m not backing down.
“If she’s yours, then why aren’t you in Seattle with her?” he
presses.
“I’m graduating after this semester, that’s why.” Why am I
even answering his questions? I came here to talk, not to listen
and “engage in dialogue,” as a professor of mine used to say.
I’ll be damned if he tries to turn this shit on me. “Me not being
there is irrelevant. You won’t be seeing her while you’re
there.”
“That’s for her to decide, don’t you think?”
“If I thought that, I wouldn’t be here, would I?” My fists
tighten at my sides, and I look away from him to stare at the
stack of science textbooks on his coffee table. “Why won’t
you just leave her alone? Is this because of what I did to—”
“No,” he interrupts smoothly. “It has nothing to do with
that. I care about Tessa, just like you. But unlike you, I treat
her the way she deserves to be treated.”
“You know nothing about how I treat her,” I growl.
“Yeah, man, I actually do. How many times has she run to
me crying because of something you did or said? Too many.”
He points a finger at me. “All you do is hurt her, and you
know it.”
“You don’t even know her, first of all, and secondly, don’t
you think it’s a little pathetic of you to keep pining after
someone you’ll never have? How many times have we had
this conversation, about how many girls?”
He eyes me carefully, taking in my anger, but not really
biting on my pointing out his history with girls. “No”—his
tongue darts out to wet his lips—“it’s not pathetic. It’s genius,
actually. With Tessa, I’ll be waiting in the background for the
day when you fuck up again—which is inevitable—and when
you do, I’ll be there for her.”
“You are a fucking—” I step back across the room to put as
much space between his body and mine before his head ends
up going through his wall. “What will it take, then? Do you
want her to tell you herself that she doesn’t want you around?
I thought she already did that, yet here you are . . .”
“You’re the one in my apartment.”
“Goddammit, Zed!” I shout. “Why can’t you just fucking
stop? You know what she means to me, and you’re always
trying to get in the way. Find someone else to toy with. There
are plenty of whores around campus.”
“ ‘Whores’?” He repeats the word, mocking me.
“You know I didn’t mean Tessa,” I growl, struggling to
keep my fists at my sides.
“If she meant so much to you, you wouldn’t have done half
the shit you did. Does she know that you fucked Molly while
you were chasing her around?”
“Yes, she knows that. I told her.”
“And she didn’t mind?” His voice is the complete opposite
of mine. He’s so collected and calm, while I’m struggling
mightily to keep the lid on my boiling anger.
“She knows that it meant nothing to me, and that it was
before everything.” I glare at him, trying to focus again. “But I
didn’t come here to discuss my relationship.”
“Okay, why, exactly, did you come, then?”
He’s such a smug bastard.
“To let you know that you aren’t going to see her in Seattle.
I thought we could discuss it in a more . . .”—I search for the
right words—“civilized manner.”
“Civilized? Sorry, but I find it hard to believe that you came
here with ‘enlightened’ intentions,” he scoffs, pointing to the
bump on the bridge of his nose.
I close my eyes momentarily and envision his nose busted
and bleeding, snapping under the metal casing when I
slammed his head against it. The memory of the sound
heightens my already buzzing adrenaline. “This is civilized for
me! I came here to talk, not to fight—however, if you won’t
stay away from her, I don’t have any other options.” I widen
my stance a little.
“Than what?” Zed asks.
“What?”
“Than what? We’ve been down this road before. There are
only so many times that you can assault me before you get
yourself arrested. And this time I will follow through on
pressing charges.”
He makes a valid point. Which only makes me madder. I
hate the fact that I can’t do a fucking thing about it, except
literally murder him, which isn’t an option . . . at this point at
least.
I take a couple of breaths and try to relax my muscles. I
have to offer my last option. One that I didn’t want to have to
rely on, but he’s not giving me much room here. “I came here
thinking we could come to some sort of agreement,” I say.
He tilts his head to the side in the cockiest way possible.
“What type of agreement? Is it another bet?”
“You’re really pushing me . . .” I say through my teeth.
“Tell me what it’ll take for you to leave her alone. What can I
give you to make you go away? Name it, and it’s yours.”
Zed stares at me, blinking rapidly, as if I’ve grown another
head.
“Well, come on, now. Every man has a price,” I murmur
drily. It infuriates me that I have to negotiate with someone
like him, but there’s nothing else I can do to make him go
away.
“Let her see me again, one more time,” he suggests. “I’ll be
in Seattle on Thursday.”
“No. Absolutely not.” Is he fucking stupid?
“I’m not asking your permission here. I’m trying to make
you feel more comfortable with it.”
“It’s not happening. You two have no reason to spend time
together; she isn’t available to you—or any other man—and
she never will be.”
“There you go, getting all possessive.” He rolls his eyes,
and I wonder what Tessa would say if she could see this side
of him, the only side I’ve ever known. What would I be as her
man if I weren’t possessive, if I was okay sharing her with
someone?
I bite my tongue while Zed stares at the ceiling as if he’s
deliberating his next words. This is such fucking bullshit, pure
and utter fucking bullshit. My head is spinning, and I’m
honestly beginning to wonder just how much longer I can keep
my cool.
Finally, Zed looks at me, a smirk slowly overtaking his
features. Then he says simply, “Your car.”
My mouth falls open at his audacity, and I can’t help but
laugh. “No fucking way!” I take two steps toward him. “I’m
not giving you my fucking car. Are you out of your fucking
mind?” My hands fly into the air.
“Sorry, then; looks like we can’t come to an agreement after
all.” His eyes glitter through their thick lashes, and he rubs his
fingers over his beard.
Images from my nightmare float through my head, him
thrusting into her, making her come . . .
I shake my head to get rid of them.
Then I dig my keys out of my pocket and toss them onto
the coffee table between us.
He gapes, bending down to retrieve the key chain. “You’re
serious?” He studies the keys, turning them over in his palm a
few times before looking back up at me. “I was fucking with
you!”
He tosses me the keys, but I don’t catch them in time; they
land only inches from the toe of my boot.
“I’ll back off . . . fuck. I didn’t expect you to actually give
me your keys.” He laughs, mocking me. “I’m not as big an
asshole as you.”
I glower at him. “You weren’t giving me many options.”
“We were friends once, remember?” Zed remarks.
I stay silent as we both remember how everything used to
be, before all of this shit, before I actually gave a fuck about
anything . . . before her. His eyes have shifted, his shoulders
have tensed along with the air after his question.
It’s hard to recall those supposed days. “I was too shit-faced
to remember.”
“You know that isn’t true!” he exclaims, raising his voice.
“You stopped drinking after—”
“I didn’t come here to take a walk down memory lane with
you. Are you going to back off or not?” I look at him. He’s
different somehow, harder.
He shrugs. “Sure, yeah.”
But that was too easy . . . “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he says with a wave of his hand at me.
“This means absolutely no contact with her. None,” I
remind him again.
“She’s going to wonder why. I texted her earlier today.”
I choose to ignore this. “Tell her you don’t want to be
friends with her anymore.”
“I don’t want to hurt her feelings like that,” he says.
“I don’t give a fuck about hurting her feelings. You need to
make it clear that you aren’t going to be pining after her
anymore.” The momentary calm I felt has ceased, and my
temper is rising again. The possibility that Tessa’s feelings
would somehow be hurt by Zed not wanting to be friends with
her drives me fucking crazy.
I walk toward the door, knowing myself well enough that I
won’t make it another five minutes in this musty apartment.
I’m pretty damn proud of myself for remaining peaceful this
long in a room with Zed after all the shit he’s done to interfere
with my relationship.
As my hand touches the rusted doorknob, he says, “I’ll do
what I have to do for now, but it still isn’t going to change the
outcome of all this.”
“You’re right. It won’t.” I agree with him, knowing that he
means the exact opposite of what I do.
Before his fucking mouth can utter another word, I get out
of his apartment and walk down the staircase as quickly as
possible.
BY THE TIME I pull into my father’s driveway, the sun is
setting, and I still haven’t been able to reach Tessa, each call
going straight to voicemail. I’ve even called Christian twice,
but he’s yet to answer or return my calls.
Tessa’s going to be mad that I went to Zed’s apartment; she
feels something for him that I’m never going to understand or
tolerate. After today, I pray that I won’t have to worry about
him any longer. Unless she clings to him . . .
No. I stop myself from doubting her. I know Steph was
feeding me bullshit, and it seeped into every insecure crack in
my stone facade. If Zed had actually fucked Tessa, he’d have
used this afternoon as the perfect opportunity to throw it in my
face.
I walk into my father’s house without knocking and search
the downstairs for Karen or Landon. Karen is in the kitchen,
standing over the stove with a wire whisk in her hand. She
turns and greets me with a warm smile but also with troubled,
tired eyes. An unfamiliar feeling of guilt spreads through me
as I remember the planter I accidentally broke in her
greenhouse.
“Hi, Hardin. Are you looking for Landon?” she asks,
placing the whisk on a plate and wiping her hands on the
bottom of her strawberry-print apron.
“I . . . I don’t know, really,” I admit. What am I doing here?
How pathetic is my life right now, that I find comfort in
coming to this house, of all places? I know it’s because of the
memories that were created when I was here with Tessa.
“He’s upstairs, on the phone with Dakota.”
Something about Karen’s tone throws me off.
“Is . . .” I’m not very good at interacting with people
besides Tessa, and I’m particularly bad at dealing with other
people’s emotions. “Is he having a bad day or something?” I
ask, sounding like a dumb-ass.
“I think so. He’s having a hard time, I think. He hasn’t
spoken to me about anything, but he seems upset lately.”
“Yeah . . .” I say, but I haven’t noticed anything different
about my stepbrother’s mood. Then again, I’ve been too busy
forcing him to babysit Richard to notice.
“When does he leave for New York again?”
“Three weeks.” She tries to hide the pain in her voice that
comes along with the words but fails miserably.
“Oh.” I’m growing more and more uncomfortable by the
minute. “Well, I’m going to go . . .”
“Don’t you want to stay for dinner?” she asks eagerly.
“Uh, no. I’m okay.”
Between the talk with my father this morning, the time I
spent with Zed, and now this awkward shit with Karen, I’m on
overload. I can’t take the chance that something is actually
wrong with Landon. I won’t be able to deal with him being all
emotional and shit, not today. I already have to go home to a
recovering drug addict and an empty fucking bed.
chapter
one hundred and eleven
TESSA
Kimberly is waiting in the kitchen for me when I arrive home
from school. Two wineglasses, one full, one empty, sit in front
of her, letting me know that she took my silence as
confirmation that I, in fact, didn’t know about Hardin’s plan to
fly to England.
She offers me a sympathetic smile when I drop my bag on
the floor and sit on the stool next to her. “Hey, girl.”
I swing my head dramatically to face her. “Hey.”
“You didn’t know?” Her blond hair is expertly curled today,
resting perfectly on her shoulders. Her black, bow-shaped
earrings glitter under the bright lighting.
“Nope. Didn’t tell me.” I sigh, reaching for the full glass of
wine in front of her.
She laughs and grabs the bottle to fill the empty glass that
was originally intended for me. “Christian said Hardin hasn’t
given Trish a definite answer yet. I shouldn’t have said
anything until I knew, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t have
mentioned the wedding to you.”
I quickly swallow the white wine in my mouth before I spit
it out. “Wedding?” I hurry to take another sip before I have to
speak again. A wild thought shoots through me . . . that
Hardin’s going back to get married. Like an arranged
marriage; they do those in England, don’t they?
No, I know they don’t. But the horrible thought electrifies
me while I wait for Kimberly’s next words. Am I drunk
already?
“His mom’s getting married. She called Christian this
morning to invite us.”
I quickly look down at the dark granite. “That’s news to
me.”
Hardin’s mother is getting married in two weeks, yet he
didn’t mention it to me at all. Then I remember . . . when he
was being weird earlier.
“That’s why she was calling so much!”
Kimberly looks at me with wide, questioning eyes as she
takes a sip of her wine.
“What should I do?” I ask her. “Just pretend that I don’t
know? Hardin and I have been communicating so much better
lately . . .” I trail off. I know that it’s only been a week of
improvement, but it’s been one amazing week for me. I feel
like we’ve made more progress in the last seven or so days
than we have in the last seven months. Hardin and I both have
been talking through issues that previously would have turned
into massive fights, yet here I am being transported back in
time to when he kept things from me.
I always find out. Doesn’t he know this by now?
“Do you want to go?” she asks.
“I couldn’t, even if I were invited.” I rest my cheek against
my hand.
Kimberly moves her stool to the side and grips the edges of
mine to turn it to face her. “I asked if you want to go,” she
corrects me, a hint of wine on her breath.
“It would be lovely, but I—”
“Then you should go! I’ll bring you as a guest, if I have to.
I’m sure Hardin’s mom would love you there. Christian says
she absolutely adores you.”
Despite my mood over Hardin’s secrecy, her words thrill
me. I absolutely adore Trish.
“I can’t go, I don’t have a passport,” I say. And I could
never afford a plane ticket on such short notice.
She waves off my objection. “Those can be expedited.”
“I don’t know . . .” I say. The butterflies I’m feeling in my
belly at the mention of England make me want to rush down
the hall to my computer and research how to get a passport—
but the unwelcome knowledge of Hardin’s purposely keeping
the wedding from me forces me to stay in my seat.
“Don’t doubt it. Trish would love to have you come along,
and Lord knows Hardin could use a push toward
commitment.” She sips on her wine, leaving a deep red print
of her full lips on the rim of the glass.
I’m sure he has his reasons for not telling me. If he’s going,
he probably doesn’t want me to tag along all the way to
England. I know his past haunts him, and crazy as it sounds,
his demons could easily be stalking the streets of London and
find us both.
“Hardin doesn’t work that way,” I say. “The more I push,
the harder he pulls.”
“Well then . . .” She moves her red-toed high heel and
gently taps her foot against mine. “You need to dig your heels
in the damn dirt and not let him pull you anymore.”
I seize on her words and save them to analyze later, when
I’m not under her watchful gaze. “Hardin doesn’t like
weddings.”
“Everyone likes weddings.”
“Not Hardin. He thoroughly hates them and the entire
concept of marriage,” I tell her and watch with a peculiar
amusement as her eyes widen and she carefully places her
wineglass back onto the countertop.
“So . . . then, what . . . I mean . . .” She blinks. “I don’t
even have anything to say, and that’s really saying
something!” Kimberly bursts out laughing.
I can’t help but laugh along. “Yeah, tell me about it.”
Kimberly’s laugh is contagious, regardless of my mood,
and I love that about her. Certainly, she can be excessively
nosy at times, and I don’t always feel comfortable with the
way she speaks about Hardin, but her openness and honesty
happen to be the things I love the most about her. She tells it
like it is, and she’s very easy to read. There’s not a layer of
guile there, unlike so many people I’ve met of late.
“So you’ll what? Just date forever?” she asks.
“I said the same thing.” I can’t help but giggle. Maybe it’s
the glass of wine I finished, or the fact that Hardin’s refusal of
any type of permanent commitment had slipped my mind in
the last week . . . I don’t know, but it feels good to laugh with
Kim.
“What about your children? You don’t mind having them
out of wedlock?”
“Children!” I laugh again. “He doesn’t want any children.”
“This just keeps getting better and better.” She rolls her
eyes and picks up her glass to finish it off.
“He says that now, but I’m hoping . . .” I don’t finish the
wish. It’s too desperate sounding when said out loud.
Kimberly winks. “Ahh—gotcha,” she says knowingly, and
I’m thankful when she changes the subject to this redhead in
the office, Carine, who has a crush on Trevor. And when she
describes a hypothetical sexual encounter between the two of
them as being like watching lobsters awkwardly bumping into
each other, I start laughing all over again.
BY THE TIME I get to my room, it’s past nine o’clock. I
purposely powered off my cell phone so that I could have a
few uninterrupted hours with Kimberly. I told her about
Hardin’s plan to come to Seattle on Wednesday instead of
Friday, and she laughed, telling me she knew he wouldn’t stay
gone long.
My hair is still damp from a shower, and I’ve been taking
my time picking out my outfit for work tomorrow. I’m
stalling, and I know it. I’m sure that when I turn on my phone,
I’ll have to deal with Hardin, and confront him, or not, about
the wedding. In a perfect world, I’d just casually bring it up,
and Hardin would invite me, explaining that he waited to ask
because he was trying to think of the right way to convince me
to come. But this isn’t a perfect world, and I’m growing more
anxious by the second. It hurts me to know that whatever
Steph said to him bothered him so much that he’s back to
keeping things from me. I hate her. I love Hardin so much, and
I just want him to see that nothing she, or anyone else, says
will ever change that.
Hesitantly, I take my phone out of my bag and power it
back on. I have to call my mother back and text Zed, but I
want to talk to Hardin first. The notifications on the top of my
small screen appear, and the envelope icon flashes, text
message after text message appearing, all from Hardin. Before
I read any of them, I just call.
He answers on the first ring. “Tessa, what the hell!”
“Have you tried to call?” I ask timidly, as innocently as I
can, trying to keep the mood as calm as possible.
“Have I tried to call? You’re joking, right? I’ve been calling
you nonstop for the last three hours,” he huffs. “I even called
Christian.”
“What?” I say, but then, not wanting things to escalate, I
follow up quickly with “I was just hanging out with Kim.”
“Where?” he immediately demands.
“Here, at the house,” I say and begin to fold my dirty
clothes and place them in the hamper; I figure I’ll do a load of
laundry before I go to bed.
“Well, next time you really need . . .” He lets out a groan of
frustration, and his voice softens as he begins again: “Maybe
next time you could just send me a text or something if you’re
going to have your phone off.” He releases a big breath, then
adds, “You know how I get.”
I appreciate the change in his tone and the fact that he
stopped himself from saying whatever it was he had originally
planned to say, which I’d rather not find out. Unfortunately,
the small buzz I got from the wine has mostly disappeared,
and the revelation of Hardin’s plans to go to England rests
heavily on my chest.
“How was your day today?” I ask him, hoping that if I give
him an opportunity to bring the wedding up, he will.
He sighs. “It was . . . well, long.”
“Mine, too.” I don’t know what to say to him without
coming out and asking point-blank. “Zed texted me today.”
“Did he?” Hardin’s voice is calm, but I can detect a note of
harshness that would usually intimidate me.
“Yeah, this afternoon. He says he’s coming to Seattle on
Thursday.”
“And what did you say back to him?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Hardin asks.
“Because, I want us to be open with one another. No more
secrets, no more hiding things.” I emphasize the last part of the
sentence, hoping it will elicit the truth from him.
“Well . . . thanks for telling me. I appreciate it,” he says.
And then says nothing more.
Seriously?
“Yeah, so . . . is there anything you want to tell me?” I ask,
still clinging to the dwindling hope that he’ll reciprocate my
honesty.
“Um, I talked to my dad today.”
“Really? About what?” Thank goodness, I knew he would
come around.
“Transferring to the Seattle campus.”
“Really!” The word comes out sounding more like a squeal
than I intended, and Hardin’s deep laugh resonates through the
line.
“Yeah, but he says it will postpone my graduation, so it
wouldn’t make sense to move, this late in the semester.”
“Oh.” I feel myself pouting. I hesitate a moment before
asking, “But after graduation?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Yeah sure? That’s it? That easy?” The smile that
overcomes me crowds out everything else. I wish he were
here; I’d grab him by his T-shirt and kiss him, hard.
Then he says, “I mean, why stall the inevitable?”
My smile fades. “You’re speaking like moving to Seattle is
a jail sentence.”
He stays quiet.
“Hardin?”
“I don’t think of it like that. I’m just annoyed by the whole
thing—all this time has been wasted, and it frustrates me.”
“I get that,” I say. His words aren’t elegant, but they mean
he’s missing me. My head is still spinning from his agreeing to
finally move to Seattle to be with me. We’ve been battling
over this issue for months, and he’s suddenly given in without
so much as a final fight. “So, Seattle it is, then? Are you
sure?” I have to ask again.
“Yeah. I’m ready to start fresh somewhere, may as well be
Seattle.”
I hug my arms around my body in excitement. “No
England, then?” I give him one last chance to bring up the
wedding.
“Nope. No England.”
I’ve already won the Great Battle of Seattle, so when the
niggling irritation about the wedding flares up again, I don’t
push my guy any further tonight. Whatever’s going on with
that, I’m going to get what I want: Hardin in Seattle, with me.
chapter
one hundred and twelve
TESSA
When my alarm sounds the next morning, I’m exhausted. I
barely slept at all. I spent hours tossing and turning, always on
the brink of sleep but never achieving it.
I don’t know if it was the excitement over Hardin agreeing
to move to Seattle, or if it was the looming discussion we’re
bound to have about England, but either way, I got no sleep,
and now I look like hell. Dark shadows aren’t as easy to hide
with concealer as the cosmetics companies would have you
believe, and my unruly hair looks as if I stuck my finger into a
light socket. Apparently the joy I felt about him moving here
couldn’t completely eliminate the underlying anxiety about his
lying by omission.
I take Kimberly up on her offer to ride to work together this
morning, buying myself a few extra minutes to apply another
coat of mascara while she recklessly whips in and out of lanes
on the freeway. She reminds me of Hardin, cursing at nearly
every car and honking more often than any reasonable person
needs to do.
Hardin hasn’t mentioned whether or not he’s still planning
on coming to Seattle today. When I asked him just before we
got off the phone last night, he told me he’d let me know in the
morning. It’s close to nine now, and I haven’t heard from him.
I can’t shake the feeling that something is happening within
him, something that if not handled properly will cause us more
turmoil. I know Steph got to him; I can tell by the way he’s
doubting everything I say. He’s keeping things from me again,
and I’m terrified of the problems this could lead to.
“Maybe you should go back this weekend instead of having
him coming to you,” Kimberly suggests between cursing out a
semi and a MINI.
“It’s that obvious?” I ask, lifting my cheek from the cold
window.
“Yes, very obvious.”
“Sorry, I’m being such a downer.” I sigh.
Going back this weekend isn’t a bad idea. I miss Landon
terribly, and it would be nice to see my father again.
“You are.” She grins at me. “But that’s nothing a little
coffee and some red lipstick won’t fix.”
When I nod my agreement, she quickly exits the highway,
makes a U-turn in the middle of a busy intersection, and says,
“I know a great little coffee shop nearby.”
BY LUNCHTIME, my morning blues have disappeared,
although I still haven’t heard from Hardin. I texted him twice
but ultimately stopped myself from calling him. Trevor is
waiting for me at an empty table in the break room, two plates
of pasta in front of him.
“They sent double my order, so I figured I’d save you from
a microwave meal for at least one day.” He smiles, sliding a
packet of plastic eating utensils across the table.
The pasta tastes as savory as it smells. The delicious
Alfredo sauce reminds me that I skipped breakfast this
morning, and I flush when a small moan falls from my mouth
as I take my first bite.
“Good, huh?” Trevor beams, wiping his thumb across the
corner of his mouth to capture a drop of the creamy sauce. He
brings his thumb to his mouth, and I can’t help but think how
odd the causal gesture looks on a man who’s wearing a suit.
“Mmm . . .” I can barely answer, because I’m too busy
shoving noodles in my face.
“I’m glad . . .” Trevor’s deep blue eyes dart away from
mine, and he shifts in his seat.
“Is everything all right?” I ask him.
“Yeah . . . I . . . well . . . I wanted to talk to you about
something.”
And like that, I begin to ask myself if the double meal
wasn’t in fact purposely ordered.
“Okay . . .” I respond, hoping this isn’t going to be too
awkward.
“It may be a little awkward.”
Great. “Go on,” I say with an encouraging smile.
“Okay . . . here goes.” He pauses and runs his fingertip over
a silver cuff link. “Carine has asked me to attend Krystal’s
wedding with her.”
I take the opportunity to shovel a forkful of pasta into my
mouth so I don’t have to speak just yet. Really, I’m not sure
why he’s telling me this, or what I’m supposed to say. I nod,
pushing him to continue, and try not to laugh thinking the
funny Carine imitation Kimberly was doing yesterday.
“And I was wondering if there was any reason that I should
say no to her,” Trevor says. He pauses to look at me like he
expects a response.
I’m positive that the choking sound I make frightens him,
but when he shoots me a look of concern, I hold up one finger
and continue chewing, thoroughly, then swallow rather
dramatically before responding. “I don’t see any reason for it.”
I hope that’s the end of that. But when he goes on to say
“What I mean is . . .” all I can hope is that he magically
guesses that I, in fact, know exactly what he means and will
just sort of let that sentence trail off without further
explanation.
No such luck.
“I know you’re on and off with Hardin, and I also know
this is one of those ‘off’ times, so I just wanted to be sure
before I accept her proposal that I can give her my full
affection. Without distractions.”
I’m not sure what to say, so I quietly ask, “Am I a
distraction?”
I feel so uncomfortable, but Trevor is so sweet, and his
cheeks have turned such a deep shade of red, that I feel an
overwhelming urge to comfort him at the same time.
“Yes, you have been since you came to Vance,” he says,
rushing the words out. “I don’t mean that in a bad way; it’s
just that I’ve been waiting in the background, and I wanted my
intentions to be clear before I explored the possibility of a
relationship with someone else.”
My very own Mr. Collins sits in front of me—a much more
handsome version, of course—and I feel just as awkward and
embarrassed for him as Elizabeth Bennett did in Pride and
Prejudice.
“Trevor, I’m sorry I—”
“It’s okay, really.” The sincerity in his eyes is almost
overwhelming. “I get it. I just wanted to confirm it one last
time.” He pokes at his pasta a little, then adds, “I guess the last
few times hadn’t done it for me.” He laughs quietly, a nervous
laugh, and I join in sympathetically.
“She’s lucky to have you as a date to the wedding,” I say,
hoping to numb the embarrassment I know he feels. I
shouldn’t have compared him to Mr. Collins; he’s not nearly as
aggressive or obnoxious. I take a long drink of water, hoping
that will end things.
“Thank you,” he says, but then he adds with a little smile,
“Maybe now Hardin will stop calling me ‘fucking Trevor.’ ”
I smack my hand against my mouth to stop the water from
spewing from my mouth. I swallow quickly, then say, “I didn’t
know you knew about that!” My horrified laugh fills the small
room.
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” Trevor’s eyes shine with humor, and
I’m so relieved that we can share a laugh, as friends, with no
confusion.
My momentary bliss is cut short when Trevor’s smile
disappears, and I turn around to follow his gaze to the
doorway.
“It smells so good in here!” one of the gossips says to the
other as she enters. I feel petty for the level of dislike I feel for
them, but I can’t help it.
“We should go,” Trevor whispers, eyeing the shorter
woman.
I stare back at him, puzzled, but get to my feet and toss the
empty Styrofoam box into the trash can.
“You look stunning today, Tessa,” the taller of the two says.
I can’t read her expression, but I’m positive that she’s mocking
me. I know I look like hell today.
“Um, thank you.”
“It’s such a small world, you know? Is Hardin still working
for Bolthouse?”
My purse slips off of my shoulder, and I quickly grab the
leather strap before it hits the floor. She knows Hardin?
“Yup, still is,” I say and straighten my back in an attempt to
appear completely unfazed at the mention of his name.
“Tell him I said hey, would you?” She smirks, and with
that, she turns on her heel and disappears, along with her evil
sidekick.
“What the hell was that?” I ask Trevor after checking the
hall to be sure the two aren’t lurking around nearby. “Did you
know they were going to say something to me?”
“I wasn’t sure, but I suspected it. I overheard them talking
about you.”
“What about me? They don’t even know me.”
He’s uncomfortable again. Trevor is easier to read than
anyone I’ve ever met. “It wasn’t about you, exactly . . .”
“They were talking about Hardin, weren’t they?” I ask and
he nods, confirming my suspicion. “What exactly did they
say?”
Trevor tucks the corners of his bright red tie into his suit.
“I . . . I don’t really want to repeat it. You should ask him.”
Given Trevor’s reluctance, I suddenly shiver at the thought
that Hardin may have slept with one of them, or both. They
aren’t much older than I am: twenty-five at the most, and, I
have to admit, both beautiful—in an over-the-top, too-much-
spray-tan way, but attractive all the same.
The walk back to my office is long, and a strong feeling of
jealousy starts gnawing at me. If I don’t ask Hardin about the
woman, I think I’ll go insane.
The moment I get to my office, I call him. I need to know if
he’s coming here tonight, and I need some reassurance.
Zed’s name flashes across my phone screen before I can
bring up Hardin’s name in my contacts list. I flinch a little, but
decide I might as well do this now.
“Hey,” I say. But I sound “off”—too excited, too fake.
“Hey, Tessa, how’s it going?” Zed asks. It feels like it’s
been so long since I’ve heard his smooth voice even though
that isn’t the case.
“It’s . . . going.” I lay my forehead against the cool surface
of my desk.
“Sounds rough.”
“It’s okay, just a lot going on.”
“Well, that’s why I called you, actually. I know I said I was
going to be in town Thursday, but I’ve had a change of plans.”
“Oh?” Relief washes over me. I look up at the ceiling and
let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Well, it’s okay.
Next time it’ll work—”
“No, I mean I’m actually in Seattle right now,” he says, and
instantly my heart rate skyrockets. “I got in last night; had a
hell of a drive. I’m only a few blocks away from your office,
actually. I won’t bother you there or anything, but maybe we
could grab some dinner or something when you’re done for
the day?”
“Um . . .” I glance at the clock. It’s fifteen minutes past
two, and Hardin still hasn’t responded to my messages. “I
don’t know if that’s good for me, actually. I think Hardin is
coming in tonight,” I admit.
First Trevor, now Zed. Did the extra mascara this morning
bring along some weird juju with it or something?
“Are you sure?” Zed asks. “I saw him out yesterday . . . it
was pretty late.”
What? Hardin and I got off the phone around eleven last
night. Could he have gone out again after we got off the
phone? Has he been spending time with his crew of so-called
friends again?
“I don’t know,” I say and dramatically hit my head against
my desk, too gently to do any damage but hard enough that I
know Zed can hear through the line.
“It’s only dinner. Then I’ll let you get to whatever plans you
have,” he coaxes. “It’ll be nice to see a familiar face, yeah?” I
can picture his smile now, the one that I adore so much.
So I ask, “I rode in to work today with someone, so I don’t
have my car. Could you pick me up at five?” And when he
happily agrees, I’m both thrilled and terrified.
chapter
one hundred and thirteen
TESSA
Five minutes before five o’clock I try to call Hardin, but he
doesn’t pick up. Where has he been all day? Was Zed right
when he said that Hardin was out late? It’s possible that he’s
on his way to Seattle and is planning to surprise me, but really,
what are the odds of that? My meeting with Zed has been
weighing on my chest since the moment I agreed to it. I know
Hardin hates our friendship. He hates it so much that it haunts
him in his dreams, and here I am, fueling that hatred.
I don’t bother to check my hair or touch up my makeup
before taking the elevator down to the lobby, studiously
ignoring Kimberly’s critical gaze. I probably shouldn’t have
informed her of my plans. Through the plate-glass windows,
Zed’s truck is visible, and is a beautiful sight for me, and I
can’t ignore the excitement I feel to see a familiar face. I’d
rather it be Hardin’s, but Zed’s here, and Hardin isn’t.
Zed climbs out of his truck to greet me as soon as I step out
of the building. His smile grows as I walk across the sidewalk,
and I see that his face is now covered by dark hair. Dressed in
black jeans and a gray long-sleeve shirt, he looks as handsome
as ever, and I look like death.
“Hey.” He smiles, opening his arms for a hug.
Uncertainty floods through me, but the need to be polite
pushes me into his waiting arms.
“It’s been a while,” he says into my hair.
I nod in agreement and ask, “How was your drive?” as I
pull back from the embrace.
He blows out a breath. “Long. But I got to listen to some
pretty good music on the way.”
He opens the passenger door for me, and I hurry to get
inside and out of the cold air. The cab of his truck is warm and
smells like him.
“What made you decide to come today instead of
tomorrow?” I ask, to begin the conversation as Zed hesitantly
pulls into traffic.
“It was just . . . a change of mind, nothing, really.” His eyes
dart back and forth between the rearview and the side mirrors.
“Driving in the city is intimidating,” I say to him.
“Yes. Very.” He smiles, still focused on the road.
“Do you know where you want to grab dinner? I haven’t
done much exploring yet, so I don’t know where the best spots
are.”
I check my phone; nothing from Hardin. So I pull up some
restaurant options on an app, and after a couple minutes, Zed
and I decide on a small Mongolian Style grill.
I GO WITH the chicken and vegetables and watch in awe as
the chef prepares the food in front of us. I’ve never been to a
place like this before, and Zed finds that amusing. We’re
seated in the very back of the small restaurant, Zed sitting
across from me, and we’re both too quiet for it to be
comfortable.
“Is something wrong?” I ask him while picking at my food.
Zed’s eyes are soft and full of worry. “I don’t know if I
should even bring it up . . . You seem like you’ve got so much
going on already, and I want you to have a nice time.”
“I’m fine. Tell me whatever it is that you need to.” I brace
myself for the unknown blow I’m sure is about to land.
“Hardin came to my place yesterday.”
“What?” I can’t hide the surprise in my voice. Why would
Hardin do that? And if he did, how is it that Zed is sitting here
without any bruises or missing limbs? “What did he want?” I
ask.
“To tell me to stay away from you,” he promptly answers.
When I mentioned Zed’s text message to Hardin last night,
he seemed so indifferent about the situation. “What time?” I
ask, hoping it was after we talked about not keeping things
from each other.
“Afternoon, around three.”
I let out an exasperated breath. Sometimes Hardin has no
boundaries, and his list of offenses is growing by the second.
I rub my temples, my appetite having disappeared. “What
did he say, exactly?”
“That he didn’t care how I did it, or if I hurt your feelings,
just that I needed to stay away. He was being so calm, it was
kinda freaky.” He stabs his fork at a piece of broccoli and pops
it into his mouth.
“And you came here anyway?”
“Yes, I did.”
The testosterone-fueled battle between the two of them is
wearing me out, and I’m on the sidelines, trying to keep the
peace but failing. “Why?”
His golden eyes meet mine. “Because his threats aren’t
going to work on me anymore. He can’t tell me who to be
friends with, which is something I hope you feel the same way
about.”
I’m beyond irritated that Hardin went to Zed’s apartment
like that. I’m even more irritated that he didn’t say anything to
me about it, and that he wanted Zed to hurt my feelings and
end our friendship while keeping his role in the whole
exchange hidden.
“I feel the same about Hardin controlling who I’m friends
with.” As the words leave my mouth, Zed’s eyes fill with
triumph, which also bothers me. “But, I also think he has good
reasons for not wanting us to be friends. Don’t you?”
Zed shakes his head amicably. “Yes and no. I won’t hide
my feelings for you, but you know that I don’t push them onto
you. I told you that I’ll take what you can give me, and if
friendship is all I can get, I’ll live with it.”
“I know you don’t push.” I choose to respond only to half
of his statement. Zed never pushes me to do anything, and he
never tries to force me into anything, but I hate the way he
talks about Hardin.
“Can you say the same for him?” Zed challenges, looking
at me intensely.
The urge to defend Hardin makes me say, “No. I can’t. I
know how he is, but that’s just who he is.”
“You’re always so quick to defend him. I don’t get it.”
“You don’t have to get it,” I say harshly.
“Really?” Zed says quietly and frowns.
“Yes.” I straighten my back and sit up as tall as I can
manage.
“It doesn’t bother you how possessive he is? He tells you
who you can be friends with . . .”
“It does bother me but—”
“You let him do it.”
“Did you come all the way to Seattle to remind me that
Hardin is controlling?”
Zed opens his mouth to speak but closes it.
“What?” I push him.
“He has a claim on you, and I’m worried about you. You
seem so stressed out.”
I sigh in defeat. I am stressed, too stressed, but fighting
with Zed isn’t going to help anything. It’s only intensifying my
frustration. “I’m not going to make excuses for him, but you
don’t know anything about our relationship. You don’t see
how he is with me. You don’t understand him the way that I
do.”
I push my plate away and notice that the couple at the next
table over has turned their attention on us. Lowering my voice,
I say, “I don’t want to fight with you, Zed. I’m exhausted, and
I was really looking forward to spending this time with you.”
He leans back in his chair. “I’m being such a jerk, aren’t I.”
he says with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, Tessa. I would blame the
drive . . . but that’s not an excuse. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I don’t know
what’s gotten into me.” My period is due any day now—that
must be why I’m so on edge.
“It’s my fault, really.” He reaches across the table and
squeezes my hand.
Tension still fills the air, and I can’t stop thinking of
Hardin, but I’d like to have a nice time, so I ask, “How is
everything else going?”
Zed dives into stories about his family and how warm
Florida was the last time he visited. The conversation between
us reverts to its normal, easy, meandering flow, and the tension
evaporates, allowing me to finish my meal.
After we’re done eating and are heading to the exit, Zed
asks, “Do you have more plans for the night?”
“Yes, I’m going to Christian’s jazz club. It just opened.”
“Christian?” Zed questions.
“Oh, my boss. That’s who I’m staying with.”
His brow rises. “You’re staying with your boss?”
“Yes, but he went to college with Hardin’s father and he’s a
longtime friend of Ken and Karen,” I explain. It hasn’t
occurred to me that Zed doesn’t know any of the details about
my life. Although he picked me up after Christian’s surprise
engagement party for Kimberly, he doesn’t know anything
about them.
“Oh, so that’s how you got a paid internship, then?”
Ouch. “Yes.” I admit.
“Well, it’s awesome either way.”
“Thanks.” I stare out the window and pull my cell phone
from my purse. Still nothing. “What else do you plan on doing
while you’re in Seattle?” I ask in the middle of trying to
explain which roads to take to get us to Christian and
Kimberly’s house. I give up after a few minutes and type the
address into my phone. The screen freezes, and the power
shuts off twice before the device finally cooperates.
“I’m not sure. I’m going to see what my friends are up to.
Maybe we could meet up again later tonight? Or before I leave
on Saturday?”
“That could be cool. I’ll let you know,” I say.
“When will Hardin be here?” The venomous undertone to
his question doesn’t go unnoticed.
I glance at my phone again, this time out of habit. “I’m not
sure, maybe tonight.”
“Are you guys together right now? I know we said we
wouldn’t talk about it anymore, but I’m confused.”
“So am I,” I admit. “We’ve been putting some space
between us lately.”
“Is that working?”
“Yes.” Until the last few days when Hardin started to pull
away from me.
“That’s good, then.”
I have to know what thought is running through his mind. I
can see it churning behind his eyes. “What?”
“Nothing. You don’t want to hear it.”
“Yes, I do.” I know I’ll regret it, but that doesn’t stop my
curiosity.
“I just don’t see any space. You’re in Seattle, staying with
friends of his family, one of whom is also your boss. Even
from miles away, he’s controlling you, trying to end the few
friendships that you have. And when he’s not doing that, he’s
coming to Seattle to visit. That doesn’t seem like much space
to me.”
I haven’t thought about my living arrangement from that
perspective until now. Is that another reason why Hardin
sabotaged my getting an apartment? So that if I still decided to
go to Seattle, I could be under the watchful eyes of his
family’s friends?
I shake my head to escape the thought. “It’s working for us.
I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but it’s working for us. I
know—”
“He tried to pay me off to stay away from you,” Zed
interjects.
“What?”
“Yeah, he was threatening me, and he told me to make him
an offer. He told me to find another ‘whore on campus’ to toy
with.”
Whore?
Zed shrugs nonchalantly. “He said that no one else will ever
have you, and he was awfully proud of himself that you stuck
around even after he told you about sleeping with Molly after
the two of you started hanging out.”
The mention of Hardin and Molly stings—Zed knew it
would. And that’s exactly why he said it.
“We’ve already dealt with that. I don’t want to talk about
Hardin and Molly,” I say through gritted teeth.
“I just want you to know what you’re dealing with. He’s not
the same person when you’re not around.”
“That’s not a bad thing,” I retort, fighting back. “You don’t
know him.” I’m relieved when we pull onto the access road
and into the outskirts of the city, signaling that we’re less than
five minutes away from Christian’s place. The sooner this car
ride is over, the better.
“You don’t either, not really,” he says. “You spend all of
your time fighting with him.”
“What’s your goal here, Zed?” I ask. I hate the direction our
conversation has taken, but I don’t know how to bring it back
to neutral territory.
“Nothing. I just thought that after all this time and all the
shit he puts you through, you’d see the truth.”
A thought strikes me. “Did you tell him you were coming
here?”
“No.”
“You’re not fighting fair here,” I say, calling him out.
“Neither is he.” He sighs, desperately trying to keep his
voice down. “Look, I know you’ll defend him until you’re
blue in the face, but you can’t blame me for wanting to have
what he has. I want to be the one you’re defending, I want to
be the one that you trust, even though you shouldn’t. I’m
always there for you when he isn’t.” He rubs his hand over his
facial hair and takes another breath. “I’m not fighting fair, but
neither is he. He hasn’t from the beginning. Sometimes I
swear the only reason he’s so attached to you is because he
knows that I have feelings for you, too.”
This is exactly why Zed and I will never be able to have a
friendship. Regardless of his sweetness and understanding, it
will never work. He hasn’t given up, and I suppose there’s
honor in that. However, I can’t give him what he wants from
me, and I don’t want to feel like I have to explain my
relationship with Hardin every time I see him. He’s been there
for me, it’s true, but only because I allowed him to be.
I say, “I don’t know if I have enough left of me to give to
you, even as a friend.”
Zed looks over at me with an even expression. “That’s
because he’s drained you.”
I stay silent and stare out the window at the pine trees lining
the road. I don’t like the tension I’m feeling right now, and I’m
fighting back some tears when I hear Zed mutter, “I didn’t
want tonight to end up this way. Now you’ll probably never
want to see me again.”
I point out the window. “It’s this driveway.”
An awkward and tense silence fills the cab of the truck until
the massive house comes into view. When I look over at him,
Zed is staring wide-eyed at Christian’s place.
“This is even bigger than the other house, the one I picked
you up from before,” he points out, trying to ease the tension.
In an effort to do the same, I begin to tell him about the
gym, the spacious kitchen, the way Christian can control
what’s going on in parts of the house with his iPhone.
And then my heart leaps into my throat.
Hardin’s car is parked just behind Kimberly’s sleek Audi.
Zed spots it at the same time that I do, but he doesn’t appear to
be affected by it. I can feel the color draining from my face as
I say, “I better get inside.”
As we park, Zed says, “Again, I’m sorry, Tessa. Please
don’t go inside upset with me. You have enough going on, I
shouldn’t have made you feel any worse.”
He offers to come inside to be sure everything is okay, but I
brush it off. I know Hardin will be pissed—beyond pissed—
but I’m the one who created this mess, so I need to be held
responsible for cleaning it up.
“It’s okay,” I reassure him with a fake smile and climb out
of his truck with a promise to text him when I can.
I’m aware of my slow strides as I walk to the door, but I
don’t make an effort to move faster. I’m trying to go over what
I should say, whether or not I should be angry with Hardin or
apologize for seeing Zed again, when the door opens.
Hardin steps out wearing his dark blue jeans and a plain
black T-shirt. Despite the fact that it has only been two days
since I last saw him, my pulse quickens and I ache to be closer
to him. I’ve missed him so much in the few days that we’ve
been apart.
His face is set in stone, and his icy gaze follows Zed’s old
truck as it disappears from view. “Hardin, I—”
“Get inside,” he scolds me.
“Don’t tell—” I begin.
“It’s cold; come inside.” Hardin’s eyes are blazing, and the
heat in them keeps me from arguing. He surprises me by
gently resting his hand on the small of my back as he leads me
inside the house, past where Kimberly and Smith are playing
some card game in the living room, and into my bedroom
without a word.
Calmly, he closes the door behind him and turns the lock.
Then he looks down at me, and my heart nearly bursts when
he asks, “Why?”
“Hardin, nothing happened, I swear. He said there was a
change of plans, and I was so relieved, because I thought he
wasn’t coming, but instead he said that he’d arrived a day
early and wanted to grab dinner.” I shrug, partly to calm
myself down. “I didn’t know how to say no.”
“You never do,” he spits, holding my gaze.
“I know you went to his apartment yesterday. Why didn’t
you tell me?”
“Because you didn’t need to know.” His breathing is harsh,
barely controlled.
“You don’t get to decide what I need to know,” I challenge
him. “You can’t keep things from me. I know about your
mother’s wedding, too!” I blurt.
“I knew how you would react.” He throws his hands up,
trying to defend himself.
I roll my eyes, stomping toward him. “Bullshit.”
He doesn’t even flinch. The veins in his arms are visible
under the rare spots of white skin, soft blue laced with the
black ink. His fists are tightly balled. “One thing at a time.”
“I will be friends with who I want to be friends with—and
you won’t keep going behind my back, acting like a child
throwing a damn tempter tantrum,” I warn him.
“You said you wouldn’t go near him again.”
“I know. I didn’t get it before, but after spending time with
him today, I made my own choice not to be friends with him.
It’s not because of you.”
I can see him flinch in surprise a little at that, but he
maintains his dark intensity. “Why’s that?”
I look away, a little ashamed. “Because I know he’s a
trigger for you, and I shouldn’t keep pushing you by seeing
him. I know how much it would hurt me if you saw Molly . . .
or any other female, for that matter. That being said, you don’t
get to control my friendships, but I can’t lie and say that I
wouldn’t feel the same way if I were you.”
He crosses his arms and breathes out roughly. “Why now?
What did he do to make you suddenly change your mind?”
“Nothing. He didn’t do anything to me. I just shouldn’t
have taken this long to get it. We have to be equals—neither of
us can hold the power.”
I can tell by the glow in his green eyes that he wants to say
more, but instead he just nods. “Come here.” He opens his
arms for me the way he always does, and I’m quick to wrap
myself in them.
“How did you know that I was with him?” I press my cheek
against his chest. His minty scent invades my senses, pushing
out all thoughts of Zed.
“Kimberly told me,” he says into my hair.
I frown. “She really doesn’t know how to keep her mouth
shut.”
“You weren’t going to tell me?” His thumb presses under
my chin and lifts my head up.
“Yes, I was, but I’d rather have told you myself.” I suppose
that I’m grateful for Kimberly’s honesty; it’s hypocritical of
me to only want her to be honest with me and not with Hardin.
“Why didn’t you come find us?” I ask. I assumed if he knew
that I was with Zed, that’s exactly what he would have done.
“Because,” he breathes, staring into my eyes, “you kept
going on about the cycle, and I wanted to break it.”
My heart swells at his honest and thoughtful answer. He
really is trying, and it means so much to me.
“I’m still mad,” he adds.
“I know.” I touch his cheek with my fingertips, and his
arms tighten around me. “I’m pissed, too. You didn’t tell me
about the wedding, and I want to know why.”
“Not tonight,” he warns.
“Yes, tonight. You got to say your piece about Zed, and
now it’s my turn.”
“Tessa . . .” His lips compress into a hard line.
“Hardin . . .”
“You’re infuriating.” He releases me and paces across the
floor, putting a distance between us that I can’t stand.
“So are you!” I fire back, following his movements to get
closer to him.
“I don’t want to talk about the fucking wedding right now;
I’m already livid and barely controlling myself as it is. Don’t
push me, okay?”
“Fine!” I say loudly, but give in. Not because I’m afraid of
what he’ll say, but because I just spent two and a half hours
with Zed, and I know Hardin’s anger is only serving to mask
the anxiety and pain I’ve caused him by doing so.
chapter
one hundred and fourteen
TESSA
I pull open my dresser drawer and dig out clean panties and a
matching bra. “I’m going to go shower. Kimberly wants to
leave at eight, and it’s already seven,” I tell Hardin, who’s
sitting on the edge of my bed with his elbows resting on his
knees.
“You’re still going?” he scoffs.
“Yes. I told you before, remember? That was the whole
reason you wanted to come here, so I didn’t have to go alone.”
“That’s not the only reason I came,” he says defensively. I
raise a speculative brow at him, and he rolls his eyes. “I didn’t
say it’s not a reason, but it’s not the only one.”
“You still want to come, right?” I ask, dangling my
underwear suggestively.
This is rewarded with a slight smirk. “No, I never wanted to
come, but if you’re going, so am I.”
I give him a wide smile, but when I leave the room, he
doesn’t follow. Which surprises me. I find myself kind of
wishing he would this time. I don’t know where we stand at
the moment. I know he’s pissed about Zed, and I’m upset that
he’s hiding things from me again, but overall I’m thrilled that
he’s here, and I don’t want to waste our time fighting.
I wrap a towel around my hair since I don’t have the time to
wash and dry it before we leave. The hot water relieves some
of the tension in my shoulders and back but doesn’t do much
to clear my head. I need to work myself into a better mood
within the hour. Hardin will be brooding all night, I’m sure. I
want us to have a nice time out with Kimberly and Christian—
I don’t want any awkward silence or public fighting. I want us
to get along, and I want to be in a happy mood, both of us. I
haven’t had a Seattle nightlife experience since I moved here,
and I want my first to be as fun as possible. My guilt regarding
Zed refuses to subside, but I’m relieved when my irritation and
irrational thoughts slide down the drain along with the
scalding water and suds of soap.
The moment I shut off the shower, Hardin knocks at the
door. I wrap a towel around myself and take a deep breath
before answering. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes. I need to try to
do something with my hair,” I say, and when I look into the
mirror, there’s Hardin standing behind me.
He squints at the frizzy mess on my head. “What’s wrong
with it now?”
“It’s out of control.” I laugh. “It won’t take long.”
“You’re wearing that?” He eyes the uncomfortable black
dress, which is hanging on the shower curtain, since I was
trying to de-wrinkle it a bit. The last time I wore it, at the
“family vacation,” it led to a disastrous night . . . well, week.
“Yes, Kimberly said there’s a dress code.”
“What kind of dress code?” Hardin looks down to his
stained jeans and black T-shirt.
I shrug and smile to myself, imagining Kimberly telling
Hardin to change his outfit.
“I’m not changing,” he tells me, and I shrug again.
Hardin’s eyes don’t leave my reflection in the mirror the
entire time that I put on my makeup and wrestle with a flatiron
and my hair. The steam from the shower has made it curl in a
terrible way; there’s just no hope for it. I end up pulling it back
into a low bun. At least my makeup actually looks really good.
An even exchange for such a bad hair day.
“Are you staying until Sunday?” I ask him as I put on my
underwear and step into my dress. I want to make sure the
tension between us is under control, and we don’t spend the
entire night arguing.
“Yes, why?” Hardin coolly responds.
“I was thinking that instead of spending Friday here in
Seattle, we could go back and I could see Landon and Karen.
Your father, too.”
“What about yours?”
“Oh yeah . . .” I had momentarily forgotten about my father
staying with Hardin. “I’ve been trying really hard not to think
about that situation until you can tell me more about it.”
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea . . .”
“Why not?” I ask. I miss Landon so much.
Hardin rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “I don’t
know . . . All this shit with Steph and Zed . . .”
“Hardin, I’m not going to see Zed again, and unless Steph
shows up at the apartment or your father’s house, I won’t be
seeing her either.”
“I still don’t think you should go.”
“You have to lighten up a little bit.” I sigh, resetting the bun
in my hair.
“Lighten up?” he says derisively, as if the idea has never
occurred to him.
“Yes, lighten up. You can’t control everything.”
His head snaps up. “I ‘can’t control everything’? This is
coming from you, of all people?”
I laugh. “I’m just saying. I’m giving you the Zed thing
because I know it’s wrong, but you can’t keep me from the
entire town because you’re worried that I might see him or
some unpleasant girl.”
“Are you done?” Hardin asks, leaning against the sink.
“With the argument or my hair?” I smirk at him.
“You’re annoying.” He smiles back at me and slaps my
behind as I move around him to exit the bathroom.
I’m glad he’s being somewhat playful. That bodes well for
the night.
As we cross the hallway to my room, Christian calls up
from the living room, “Hardin—you here still? You coming to
listen to some jazz? It’s not heavy metal or whatever, but . . .”
I don’t hear the rest of his words because I’m busy laughing
at the impromptu Christian Vance impersonation Hardin is
doing. Pushing his chest lightly, I say, “Go see him. I’ll be
right out.”
Back in my room, I grab my purse and check my cell
phone. I have got to call my mother soon; I keep putting it off,
and she won’t stop calling. I have a message from Zed as well.
Please don’t be upset with me about tonight. I was a jerk and I didn’t mean to
be. Sorry.
I delete the message and stick my phone back into my
purse. My friendship with Zed has to end now. I’ve been
leading him on for too long, and every time I say goodbye to
him I end up backtracking and make the situation worse by
seeing him again. It’s not fair to him or to Hardin. Hardin and I
have enough problems as it is. It bothers me as a woman that
Hardin tries to forbid me from seeing Zed, but I can’t deny
that I’m being a huge hypocrite if I continue hanging out with
him. I would never want Hardin to be friends with Molly and
spend time with her alone—the thought itself makes me
nauseous. Zed has made his feelings for me very clear, and it’s
not fair to anyone if I let the situation with him linger and
tacitly encourage him. Zed is kind to me, and he’s been there
for me a lot, but I hate the way that I always feel like I have to
explain myself to him and defend my relationship.
Enjoying the fantasy of a great night out with my guy, I
descend the stairs . . . and am surprised that when I enter the
living room, Hardin is standing there with his hands in his
hair, looking exasperated.
“Hell no!” he huffs, backing away from Christian.
“Bloodstained jeans and that dirty shirt aren’t appropriate
attire in the club, regardless of your connections to the owner,”
Christian says, pushing some sort of black fabric to Hardin’s
chest.
“I’m not going, then.” Hardin pouts, letting the garment fall
to the floor at Christian’s feet.
“Don’t be a baby, just put the damn shirt on.”
“If I wear the shirt, I’m keeping the jeans on,” Hardin says,
negotiating, and looking to me for support.
“Didn’t you bring any clothes that don’t have blood on
them?” Christian smiles, then bends down to pick up the shirt.
“You can wear your black jeans, Hardin,” I suggest in an
effort to mediate between the two men.
“Fine, give me the fucking shirt, then.” Hardin snatches the
shirt from Christian’s hands and lifts his middle finger to him
as he stalks down the hallway.
“Maybe a haircut, too,” Christian shouts after him
teasingly, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Oh, would you leave him alone already. I won’t stop him
from giving you a black eye,” Kimberly jokes.
“Yeah . . . yeah . . .” Christian pulls her into his arms and
kisses her mouth.
I turn away just as the doorbell rings.
“That will be Lillian!” Kim announces while wiggling out
of Christian’s embrace.
Hardin walks out into the living room as Lillian comes
through the front door. “Why is she here?” he groans. He’s put
on the black button-down shirt, which doesn’t look bad on
him.
“Don’t be mean. She babysits Smith, and she’s your friend,
remember?” I say. My first impression of Lillian wasn’t a
good one, but I’ve grown to like the girl, even though I
haven’t seen her since we got home from the Vacation from
Hell.
“No, she’s not.”
“Tessa! Hardin!” Lillian exclaims, her bright blue eyes
beaming and her smile bright. I’m thankful that she’s not
wearing the same dress I am, like she was the first time I met
her, at the restaurant in Sand Point.
“Hey.” I smile back, and Hardin curtly nods.
“You look great,” she compliments, looking me up and
down.
“Thanks—so do you.” She’s dressed in a simple cardigan
and khaki pants.
“Okay, if you both are done . . .” Hardin complains.
“Nice to see you, too, Hardin.” Lillian rolls her eyes at him,
and he slightly softens, offering her a half smile.
Meanwhile, Kimberly is rushing around the living room,
putting on her heels and checking her makeup in the large
mirror above the couch. “Smith is upstairs. We shouldn’t be
gone any later than midnight.”
“Ready, love?” Christian asks her. And when she nods yes,
he spreads his arms wide and gestures to the door.
“We’re driving separately,” Hardin announces.
“Why? We have a driver for tonight,” Christian says.
“I want to drive myself in case we want to leave.”
Christian shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
As we head out, I get a better look at Hardin’s shirt, which
is not unlike the one he usually wears when he’s forced to
dress up. The difference here, however, is that this shirt is
covered with a faint, barely noticeable animal print . . .
“Don’t say a word,” Hardin warns me when he notices me
staring.
“I’m not.” I bite my lip, and he groans.
“It’s hideous,” he says, and I giggle the entire way to the
car.
THE JAZZ CLUB is centrally located in downtown Seattle.
The streets are full of people, as if it were a Saturday night
instead of Wednesday. We wait inside Hardin’s car until a
sleek black town car pulls up next to us and Kimberly and
Christian step out.
“Rich bastard,” Hardin says, squeezing my thigh before we
get out ourselves.
With a brisk smile, the bald bouncer unhooks the velvet
rope from the silver stand and lets us by. Moments later,
Kimberly is leading us through the dark club, showing off
various features of the place while Christian wanders off by
himself. Blocks of gray stone serve as tables, and there are
groups of black couches accented with white cushions. The
only color in the entire club comes from the bouquets of red
roses that are sitting atop each massive stone. The soft music
playing through the club is relaxing yet stimulating at the same
time.
“Fancy.” Hardin rolls his eyes. He looks painfully beautiful
under the dim lights. Christian’s printed button-down shirt
paired with the black jeans make for a deadly attack on my
libido.
“It’s nice, right?” Kimberly turns around, beaming.
“Sure, sure,” Hardin replies. The moment we get near the
crowded tables, Hardin’s arm wraps around my hips, pulling
me closer to him as we walk.
“Christian is in the VIP section. We have it to ourselves,”
Kimberly informs us.
We walk to the back of the club, and a satin curtain is
pulled open to reveal a moderate-sized space with more black
curtains serving as walls. Four couches form the perimeter of
the room, and a large stone rests in the center, covered with
bottles of alcohol, a bowl of ice, and various finger foods.
I’m so distracted I almost miss seeing Max sitting on one of
the couches, across from Christian.
Great. Max rubs me the wrong way, and I know Hardin
doesn’t care for him either. Hardin’s arm tightens around me
again, and he shoots a glare toward Christian.
Kimberly smiles, ever the perfect hostess. “Nice to see you
again, Max.”
Max grins. “You, too, dear.” He takes her hand in his and
lifts it to his lips.
“Excuse me.” A woman’s voice sounds behind me. Hardin
and I step to the side, and Sasha prances through the small
space. Her intimidating height and barely-there white dress
help her claim the entire room.
“Great,” Hardin says, echoing my thought from seconds
ago. He’s about as happy to see her as I am to see Max.
“Sasha.” Kimberly tries to appear pleased to see the woman
but fails. One of the flaws of Kim’s genuine openness and
honesty is that it’s hard for her to hide her emotions.
Sasha smiles warmly at her and takes a seat on the couch,
next to Max. His dark eyes meet mine as if he’s asking me for
permission to sit with his mistress. I look away as Hardin
guides me to the couch directly across from them. Kimberly
takes a seat on Christian’s lap and leans forward to grab a
bottle of champagne.
“What do you think of the place, Theresa?” Max asks with
his smooth, heavy accent.
“Um.” I stutter at the use of my full name. “I-it’s nice.”
“Would you two like some champagne?” Kimberly offers.
Hardin answers for me. “I wouldn’t, but Tessa would.”
I lean into his shoulder. “If you aren’t drinking, I probably
shouldn’t either.”
“Go ahead, I don’t mind. I just don’t want any.”
I smile at Kim. “I’m okay; thank you, though.”
Hardin frowns and takes a full glass from the table. “You
should have some, you’ve had a long day.”
“You only want me to drink so I don’t ask you questions,” I
whisper, rolling my eyes as I do so.
“No.” He smiles, amused. “I just want you to have a nice
time out. That’s what you wanted, right?”
“I don’t have to drink to have a nice time.” When I glance
around the room, I can see that none of our company is paying
any attention to our conversation.
“I never said that you did. I’m only saying, your friend is
offering you free champagne that probably cost more than
your entire outfit and mine put together.” His fingertips dance
along the nape of my neck. “So why not enjoy a glass?”
“Good point.” I lean into him again, and he hands me the
long-stemmed glass. “But I’m only having one,” I say.
Thirty minutes later I’ve just polished off my second glass
and am contemplating a third in an attempt to not feel
uncomfortable while I watch Sasha parading around the small
space. She claims she just wants to dance, but if that were
truly the case, she could go out to the public area of the club
and dance there.
Attention whore.
I cover my mouth as if I’ve said the words out loud.
“What?” Hardin, I can see, is bored. Very bored. I can tell
by the way he’s staring at the black curtain and his hand is
dragging lazily up and down my back.
I shake my head in a silent response. I shouldn’t be thinking
those things about the woman when I don’t even know her. All
I know about her is that she’s sleeping with a married man . . .
That’s probably enough to know. I can’t help but dislike
her.
“Can we go now?” Hardin whispers into my neck and
brings his other hand to my thigh.
“Just a little longer,” I say to him. I’m not necessarily
bored, but I would rather be spending one-on-one time with
Hardin than avoiding eye contact with Sasha or her nearly
exposed underwear.
“Tessa, come dance . . . ?” Kimberly suggests, and Hardin
tenses.
My thoughts flash back to the last time I went out to a
nightclub with Kimberly. I danced with a guy just to spite
Hardin, even though he was miles away. I was so heartbroken
then, so sad, that I could barely think straight. That guy ended
up kissing me, and I ended up completely molesting Hardin in
my hotel room after he found Trevor there. It was a huge
misunderstanding, but when I think back, the night ended
pretty well for me.
“I don’t really dance, remember?” I say.
“Well, come do a lap or something.” She smiles. “You look
like you’re falling asleep.”
“Okay, a lap,” I agree and rise to my feet. “Are you
coming?” I ask Hardin, who shakes his head.
“She’ll be fine; we’ll only be gone a minute,” Kimberly
assures him.
He doesn’t look pleased about her stealing me away, but
doesn’t try to stop her. He’s trying to show me that he can
lighten up, and I love him for it.
“If you lose her, don’t bother coming back,” he says.
Kimberly bursts into laughter and drags me through the
curtains and into the crowded club.
chapter
one hundred and fifteen
HARDIN
Max sidles up to me and asks, “Where do you suppose she
took Theresa off to?”
“Tessa,” I correct him. How the fuck does he even know
her name is Theresa? Okay, maybe it’s a little obvious that’s
her full name, but I don’t like his saying it.
“Tessa.” He smiles and takes a long sip of champagne.
“She’s a lovely girl.”
I reach for a bottled water from the table and ignore his
prodding. I have no interest in talking to the man. I should’ve
gone with Tessa and Kimberly, wherever they went. I try to
show Tessa that I can “lighten up,” and this is where it gets
me. Sitting next to this guy in a club with shitty music.
“I’ll be back in a second; the band just arrived,” Christian
informs us. He tucks his cell phone into his dress slacks and
wanders off. Max stands and follows him, giving his date
instructions to enjoy herself, to have more champagne.
They aren’t seriously leaving me alone in here with this
chick . . .
“Looks like it’s just us two,” this Stacey Whomever chick
says to me, confirming that yes, that’s exactly what they just
did.
“Mm . . .” I spin the plastic cap of a water bottle across the
stone table.
“So what do you think of the place? Max says it’s been
packed every night since the opening.” She smiles at me. I
pretend not to notice when she tugs at the bottom of her tiny
dress to expose her cleavage . . . or lack thereof.
“It only opened a few days ago. Of course it’s been
packed.”
“Even so, it’s a nice place.” She uncrosses her legs and
crosses them again.
Could she be any more desperate? At this point I can’t even
tell if she’s actually trying to come on to me or if she’s just so
accustomed to being a whore that it’s all automatic.
She leans across the table between us. “Do you want to
dance? There’s room in here.” Her long fingernails brush
against my sleeve, and I jerk away.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” I move to the other
end of the couch. This time last year I would have taken her
desperate ass into the bathroom and fucked her brains out.
Now the thought makes me want to vomit on her white dress.
“What? I only asked to dance.”
“Maybe dance with your married boyfriend,” I snap and
reach to push the curtain back, hoping to see Tessa.
“Don’t be so quick to judge me. You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.”
“Yeah, well, I know some stuff about you, too, so if I were
you, I’d watch it.”
“Do you, now?” I laugh.
She narrows her eyes at me, trying to intimidate me, I’m
sure. “Yes, I do.”
“If you knew shit about me, you would know better than to
be threatening me right now,” I warn her.
She lifts a champagne flute and gives me a little salute.
“You’re exactly like they say . . .”
Which is my cue to leave. I push through the curtains to go
find Tessa so we can get the hell out of here.
Exactly like who says? Who does she think she is?
Christian is lucky that I promised Tessa a nice night.
Otherwise, Max would have to answer for his whore’s mouth.
I circle the club in search of Tessa’s sparkling dress and
Kimberly’s bright blond hair. I’m thankful that this is not the
type of place where everyone is swaying around on a dance
floor; most of the patrons are seated at tables, making my
search that much easier. Finally, I find them standing at the
main bar, talking to Christian, Max, and some other guy.
Tessa’s back is toward me, but I can tell by her posture that
she’s nervous. Seconds later, another guy joins them, and as I
get closer, the first man starts to look more and more familiar
to me.
“Hardin! There you are.” Kimberly reaches out her arm to
touch my shoulder, but I dodge her and move to Tessa. When
she turns to me, her blue-gray eyes are wary as they lead my
gaze to the guest.
“Hardin, this is my teacher from World Religion, Professor
Soto,” she says, smiling politely.
Are you fucking kidding me? Does everyone end up making
their way to Seattle?
“Jonah,” he corrects her. He pushes his hand into the space
between us for a handshake that I’m too thrown off to deny.
chapter
one hundred and sixteen
HARDIN
Tessa’s professor smiles, checking her out fairly subtly as he
does so. But I see it clearly.
“Nice to see you again,” he says, but I can’t tell if he’s
talking to me or Tessa, really, the way he moves about to the
music.
“Professor Soto lives in Seattle now,” Tessa informs me.
“Convenient,” I say under my breath. Tessa hears me and
gently nudges me with her elbow, and I wrap my arm around
her waist.
Jonah’s eyes briefly note where I’ve placed my arm, then
move back up to her face. She’s taken, dick.
“Yeah, I transferred to the Seattle campus a couple weeks
ago. I applied for a job a few months back and finally got it.
My band was ready for a move anyway,” he tells us with an
attitude that indicates he thinks we should care about any of
this.
“The Reckless Few will be playing here tonight, and every
other night, if we can talk them into it,” Christian boasts.
Jonah smiles and looks down at his boots.
“I think that might be possible,” he says, looking back up
with a smile. Finishing his drink in one motion, he says, “Well,
we better get ready to play.”
“Yeah. Don’t let us keep you.” Christian pats Soto on the
back, and the professor turns to give Tessa one last smile
before pushing through the small crowd toward the stage.
“The band is incredible; wait until you hear them!” Vance
claps his hands together once before he wraps his arms around
Kimberly and leads her to a table in front of the stage.
I’ve already heard them; they are not incredible.
Tessa turns to me with nervous eyes. “He’s nice.
Remember, he gave you a character witness when you were
about to be expelled?”
“No, I don’t recall anything about him, actually. Except for
the fact that he seems to like you and is mysteriously living in
Seattle now, teaching at your fucking campus.”
“You heard him say that he applied there months ago . . .
and he does not like me.”
“He does.”
“You think everyone likes me,” she fires back. She can’t
possibly be naive enough to assume that this guy has good
intentions.
“Shall we make a list, then? There’s Zed, fucking Trevor,
that dickhead of a waiter . . . who am I missing? Oh, and now
we can add your creepy professor, who was just eyeing you
like you were dessert.” I look to where that dick is on the little
bandstand, walking about with an attitude that’s both self-
important and fake-casual.
“Zed is the only person on that list that counts. Trevor is
very sweet, and he never meant any harm. I’ll probably never
see Robert again, and Soto is not a stalker.”
One word in that spiel doesn’t sit well with me.
“ ‘Probably’?”
“I obviously won’t see him again. You’re the one I’m with,
okay?” She pushes one of her hands into mine, and I relax. I
need to make sure I burned or flushed that damned waiter’s
phone number, just in case.
“I still think this asshole is a stalker.” I nod toward the stage
at the douche bag in his leather jacket. I may need to talk to
my father just to make sure he isn’t as shady as I think he is.
Tessa would approach a lion with fucking kid gloves—she’s
no good at judging character.
She proves my point when she beams up at me, smiling like
an idiot because of the champagne running through her veins.
She’s actually here with me after all the shit I’ve put her
through . . .
“I thought this was a jazz club, but his band is more—”
Tessa begins to try and take my mind off the seemingly
endless list of men who want her affection.
“Shitty?” I interrupt her.
She swats my arm. “No, just not jazz music. They are
more . . . like the Fray, sort of.”
“The Fray? Don’t go insulting your favorite band, now.”
The only thing I remember about the professor’s band is that
they fucking suck.
She bumps her shoulder against my arm. “And yours.”
“Not quite.”
“Don’t act like you don’t like them; I know you do.” She
squeezes my hand, and I shake my head, not denying it, really,
but I’m not going to admit it either.
I stare back and forth between the wall and Tessa’s tits
while waiting for the godforsaken band to set up.
“Can we just go now?” I ask.
“One song.” Tessa’s cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are
wide and glossy. She takes another drink. Her hands run over
her dress, tugging it down and up at once.
“Can I at least sit down?” I nod toward line of empty stools
at the bar.
I take Tessa’s hand in my own and pull her to the bar. I sit
on the last stool, closest to the wall and farthest from the
crowd.
“What are you having?” a young man with a goatee and a
fake-ass Italian accent asks us.
“A glass of champagne and a water,” I say as Tessa moves
to stand between my legs. I rest one hand on the small of her
back, the beads of her dress rough against my palm.
“We only sell champagne by the bottle, sir.” The bartender
gives me an apologetic smile as if he’s sure I couldn’t afford a
bottle of his fucking champagne.
“A bottle will be fine.” Vance’s voice sounds next to me,
and the bartender nods, looking back and forth between the
two of us.
“She’ll have it chilled,” I cockily remark.
The kid nods again and scurries away to fetch the bottle.
Dick.
“Stop babysitting us,” I tell Vance. Tessa scowls at me, but
I ignore her.
He rolls his eyes like the sarcastic twit he is. “I’m clearly
not babysitting you. She’s underage.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say. Someone calls his name, and he pats
my shoulder before walking off.
A few moments later, the bartender pops a bottle of
champagne open and pours the bubbling liquid into a glass for
Tessa. She politely thanks him, and he responds with a smile
even more artificial than his accent. His little pantomime of
cool is killing me.
She brings the glass to her lips and rests her back against
my chest. “It’s so good.”
Just then, two men walk by and give her a quick glance.
She notices; I know she does, because she leans further into
me and lays her head against my shoulder.
“There’s Sasha,” she says over the sound of Professor
Stalker’s guitar being tested on the sound equipment. The tall
blonde is searching the room, either for her boyfriend or a
random dude to nail.
“Who cares?” I gently grip her elbow and turn her to face
me.
“I don’t like her,” she quietly states.
“No one does.”
“You don’t?” she asks.
Is she insane? “Why would I?”
“I don’t know.” Her eyes move to my mouth. “Because
she’s pretty.”
“So?”
“I don’t know . . . I’m just being weird.” She shakes her
head in an attempt to get rid of the resentment that is clear on
her face.
“Are you jealous, ‘Theresa’?”
“No.” She pouts.
“You shouldn’t be.” I open my legs further and pull her
against me again. “That’s not what I want.” I move my eyes to
her nearly exposed chest. “You are.” I trace the line of her
cleavage with my index finger as if we aren’t in a crowded
club.
“Only for my boobs.” She whispers the last word.
“Obviously.” I chuckle, teasing her.
“I knew it.” Tessa pretends to be offended but smiles over
the rim of her glass.
“Yeah, well, now that the truth is out, you can let me fuck
them,” I say, much too loud.
Champagne spurts out of her mouth and onto my shirt and
lap.
“Sorry!” she squeals, reaching for the napkin bin on the bar.
She dabs the napkin across this fucking horrendous
monstrosity of a shirt and then moves to wipe at my crotch.
I grab her wrist and take the napkin from her. “I wouldn’t
do that.”
“Oh.” Her flush spreads down her neckline.
One of the band members makes their introduction into the
microphone, and I try my best not to heave when the eardrum
assault begins. Tessa watches intently as they roll from one
song to another, and I continue to keep her glass full.
I’m thankful for the way we’re sitting. Well, the way I’m
sitting. She’s standing between my legs, her back toward me,
but I can see her face when I slightly lean back against the bar
behind me. The low red lighting in the place, the champagne,
and her being . . . her, makes her glow. It’s impossible not to
watch her smile and stare at the stage. I can’t even be jealous,
because she’s just that . . . beautiful.
As if she can read my mind, she turns around and gives me
an eager smile. I love seeing her this way, so carefree . . . so
young. I need to make her feel this way more often.
“They are good, right?” She nods along to the slow yet
edgy sound.
I shrug. “No.” They aren’t terrible, but they sure as hell
aren’t good.
“Shurrrr.” She exaggerates the word and turns back around.
Moments later, her hips begin to sway along to the whining
voice of the lead singer. Fuck.
I move my hand down to the curve of her hip, and she
backs into me, still moving. The tempo of the song speeds up,
and Tessa does the same. Holy fuck.
We’ve done a lot of shit . . . I’ve done a lot of shit, but I’ve
never had anyone dance on me this way. I’ve had girls and
even a few strippers give me a lap dance, but not like this. This
is slow, intoxicating . . . and achingly fucking hot. My other
hand moves to her other hip, and she turns slightly to place her
glass on the bar top. With her hands empty, she gives me a
salacious smile and looks back to the stage. She lifts up one
hand and runs her small fingers through my hair and places the
other hand on top of mine.
“Keep going,” I beg.
“You sure?” She tugs at the roots of my hair.
It’s hard to believe that this seductive girl, wearing a short,
black dress, swaying her hips, and tugging my hair, is the same
girl who spits her champagne when I talk about fucking her
chest. She’s such a turn-on.
“Yes, fuck,” I breathe and lift a hand up to the nape of her
neck, bringing her ear to my mouth. “Move against me . . .” I
squeeze her hip. “Closer.”
She does just that. I’m thankful for my height as I sit on the
bar stool, the perfect height for her ass to move against me,
hitting the exact spot that aches for her.
I pull my attention from her, only for a second, to scan our
surroundings. I don’t want anyone else watching her dance.
“You’re so sexy right now,” I say against the shell of her
ear. “Dancing this way, in public . . . for me and only me.” I
swear I hear her moan through the music, and that’s all I can
take. I turn her around and push my hand under her skirt.
“Hardin.” She groans when I slide her panties to the side.
“No one is paying any attention. Even if they were, they
can’t see,” I assure her. I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought
anyone could possibly witness it.
“You liked putting on that show, didn’t you?” I say. She
can’t deny it, she’s soaking.
She doesn’t respond; she only rests her head on my
shoulder and pulls at the bottom of my shirt, fisting it in her
hand like she normally would do our sheets. I pump in and out
of her, trying to match the haunting melody of the song.
Almost instantly, her legs are stiffening, and she’s coming on
my fingers. She hums, letting me know just how much
pleasure I’m bringing her. She leans in further, her mouth
sucking at the base of my neck. Her hips rock into me, keeping
a steady beat with my fingers pumping in and out of her wet
pussy. Her moans are drowned out by the music and the voices
around us, and her nails could possibly be breaking the skin on
my stomach.
“I’m going to,” she groans into my neck.
“I know, baby. Come for me. Right here, Tessa. Come.” I
gently persuade her.
She nods, biting down on the tendon in my neck, and I feel
my cock pulsing, pressing against the front of my jeans. All of
her weight rests on me as she orgasms, and I hold her up.
She’s panting, absolutely flushing, glowing under the lights,
when she lifts her head.
“Car or bathroom?” she asks when I bring my fingers to my
lips, sucking her sweetness from them.
“Car,” I reply hastily, and she downs the last of her
champagne. Vance can pay for that shit; I don’t have time to
hunt down the bartender.
Tessa takes my hand and drags me toward the door. She’s
eager, and I’m hard as fuck from her seduction game at the
bar.
“Is that . . . ?” Tessa stops in her tracks near the front of the
club. Black hair, styled to stick up wildly, peeks through the
crowd. I would have sworn my paranoia was causing me to
hallucinate if she hadn’t seen him, too.
“Why the fuck is he here? Did you tell him you were
coming to the club?” I hiss. I’ve kept my cool all night, only to
have it sabotaged by this asshole.
“No! Of course not!” Tessa exclaims, defending herself. I
can tell by her wide eyes that she’s being honest.
Zed spots us, and a mischievous frown takes over his face.
Being the fucking instigator that he is, he walks over to where
we’re standing.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him as he approaches.
“Same thing as you.” He rolls his shoulders and looks at
Tessa. I fight the urge to pull the top of her dress up and knock
his teeth out.
“How did you know she was here?” I ask him.
Tessa tugs at my arm and looks back and forth between Zed
and me.
“I didn’t. I’m here to watch the band.” A man with the
same tanned skin as Zed joins us.
“You should go,” I tell the two of them.
“Hardin, please,” Tessa whines behind me.
“Don’t,” I whisper to her. I’ve had enough of Zed and his
shit.
“Hey . . .” The man moves to stand between us. “They’re
doing another set. Let’s go tell them we’re here.”
“You know Soto?” Tessa asks. Dammit, Tessa.
“Yeah, we do,” the stranger says.
I can practically see the conspiracy theories floating
through her mind about how these people know each other, but
just wanting to be away from Zed, I take her by the arm and
guide us to the door.
“See you around,” Zed says, giving Tessa his best I’m-a-
lost-fucking-puppy-and-I-want-you-to-feel-bad-for-me-and-
love-me-because-I’m-a-pathetic-fuck smile before following
the other guy toward the stage.
I rush out the door and into the cold air. Tessa follows
closely behind, insisting, “I didn’t know he was coming here! I
swear.”
I unlock the car and open the passenger door for her. “I
know, I know,” I say to silence her. I’m trying my best to talk
myself down from going back inside. “Drop it. Please. I don’t
want to ruin the night.” I walk around to the other side of the
car and slide in next to her.
“Okay,” she agrees, nodding.
“Thank you.” I sigh. I slip the key into the ignition, and
Tessa puts her hand on my cheek to turn my head toward her.
“I really appreciate you making such an effort tonight. I
know it’s hard for you, but it means the world to me.” As she
utters her words of praise, I smile against her palm.
“Okay.”
“I mean it. I love you, Hardin. So much.”
I tell her how much I love her while she climbs across the
console and straddles my lap. Her hands are quick to undo my
jeans and tug them down just enough . . . her mouth is quick
against my neck, and she pulls at my shirt, popping the top
two buttons off in a rushed attempt to gain access to my chest.
I push her dress up to expose her tight little body to me, and
she digs into my back pocket to retrieve the condom that I
suspected I would need.
“I only want you, always,” she reassures me, calming my
racing mind as she slides the condom onto me. I grip her hips
and help lift her body. In the small space of the car it feels
closer, deeper, as she lowers herself onto me. As I fill her,
completely and possessively, a low hiss escapes my mouth.
She covers my lips, swallowing my moans as she moves her
hips slowly, the way she did in the club.
“It’s so fucking deep this way,” I say, taking her bun in my
hand and tugging gently to force her to look at me.
“So good,” she groans, taking me inside her, feeling every
inch of me. One of her hands moves to my hair while the other
rests at the base of my throat. She’s so fucking sexy this way,
when alcohol is laced with adrenaline and she’s full of hunger
and need—need for me, for my body, for this raw passionate
connection that only we share. She couldn’t find this with
anyone else, and neither could I. I have everything I need here
with her, and she can’t ever leave me.
“Fuck, I love you,” I breathe into her mouth as she tugs at
my hair and her fingers tighten on my neck. It’s not
uncomfortable, it’s fairly light pressure, but it’s driving me
fucking insane.
“I love you,” she gasps when I lift my hips to meet her,
thrusting harder than before. I stare at her and revel in the
sensation of her flexing her hips. The slow building of
pleasure begins at the base of my spine, and I can feel Tessa
tensing as I continue to aid her by lifting my hips with each
thrust.
She has got to get on the pill. I need to feel her skin-to-skin
again.
“I can’t wait to be inside you without a condom . . .” I say
into her neck.
“Keep going,” she urges me. She loves my dirty mouth.
“I want you to feel me come inside you . . .” I suck at the
salty skin of her collarbone, tasting the thin layer of sweat
there. “You’ll fucking love it, won’t you? Me marking you that
way?” The thought alone pushes me over the edge.
“I’m almost . . .” she moans, and with one harsh tug at my
hair, we ride out our highs together, panting, and moaning, and
messy, and us.
I help her off of my lap and roll down the window while
she adjusts her dress.
“What are you—” she begins, and I toss the condom out the
window. “You did not just throw a dirty condom out of the
window! What if Christian sees it?”
I smile evilly at her. “I’m sure it won’t be the only condom
he finds in this lot.”
Her hands fumble with my zipper, helping me dress again
so I can drive. “Maybe not.” She scrunches her nose and looks
out the window as I put the car into gear.
“It smells like sex in here,” she adds and bursts into
laughter.
I nod and listen to her hum along to every single fucking
song on the radio as we drive back to Vance’s place. I almost
tease her for it, but it’s actually sort of a lovely sound,
especially after listening to that shitty-shitty band play.
Lovely sound? I’m even starting to talk like her.
“I’m going to have to physically remove my eardrums after
tonight,” I remark as she carries on. She sticks her tongue out
at me like a child and sings even louder.
I TAKE TESSA’S HAND in mine to steady her as we walk up
to the driveway en route to the front door. The way she’s
acting, I’m guessing most of that champagne finally hit her
liver.
“What if we’re locked out?” she asks with a giggle when
we reach the driveway.
“The babysitter is here,” I remind her.
“Oh yeah! Lillian . . .” She smiles. “She’s so nice.”
I grin at the level of her intoxication. “I thought you didn’t
like her.”
“I do, now that I know she doesn’t like you the way you led
me to believe she did.”
I touch her lips. “Don’t pout. She’s a lot like you . . . only
more annoying.”
“Excuse me?” She hiccups. “That wasn’t very nice of you
to make me jealous of her.”
“It worked, didn’t it?” I reply smugly as we reach the door.
Lillian is seated alone on the couch when we enter the
house. I take a moment to pull the front of Tessa’s dress up a
little. She rolls her eyes at me.
Seeing us, Lillian stands to her feet. “How was it?”
“It was so, so much fun! The band was great!” Tessa
beams.
“She’s wasted,” I inform Lillian.
She laughs. “I can see that.” After a pause, she says, “Smith
is asleep. He almost had a conversation with me tonight.”
“Good for you,” I say and lead Tessa toward the hall.
My drunk girlfriend waves at Lillian. “It was nice seeing
you!”
I don’t know if I should tell Lillian to leave now or wait
until Vance shows up, so I don’t say anything. Besides, let her
deal with that little robot kid if he wakes up.
When we get to Tessa’s room, I close the door behind us,
and she immediately plops onto the bed. “Can you take this
off?” She points to her dress. “It’s so itchy.”
“Yeah, stand up.” I help her out of her dress, and she thanks
me with a kiss on the tip of my nose. It’s a simple gesture, but
it catches me off guard, and I smile at her.
“I’m so glad you’re here with me,” she says.
“Are you?”
She nods and undoes the remainder of the buttons left on
Christian’s shirt. Her hands push the garment down my arms,
and she folds it neatly before walking to the hamper. I’ll never
understand why she folds dirty clothes, but I’m used to it by
now.
“Yes, very. Seattle isn’t as great as I thought,” she finally
admits.
Then come back with me, I want to say.
“Why not?” I say instead.
“I don’t know. It’s just not.” She frowns, and I’m surprised
that instead of wanting to hear how miserable she is here, I
want to change the subject. Landon and I both suspected she
felt this way; but still it makes me feel bad that it’s not exactly
what she’d wanted. I should take her out tomorrow during the
day to cheer her up.
“You could move to England,” I say.
She glares at me with red cheeks and champagne-glazed
eyes. “You won’t take me there for a wedding, but you want
me to move there,” she says, calling me out.
“We’ll talk about it later,” I say, hoping she’ll drop it right
now.
“Yeah . . . yeah . . . always later.” She walks back to sit on
the bed but misses completely. Her body rolls onto the floor,
and she bursts into a fit of laughter.
“Christ, Tessa.” I grab hold of her hand and help her to her
feet, my heart pounding in my chest.
“I’m fine.” She laughs and sits down on the bed, pulling me
with her.
“I gave you too much champagne.”
“Yep, you did.” She smiles and pushes my shoulders back
until I’m flat on the mattress.
“Are you okay? Do you feel sick?”
She rests her head against my chest. “Stop parenting me,
I’m fine.” I bite my tongue instead of mouthing off to her.
“What do you want to do?” she asks quietly.
“What?”
“I’m bored.” She looks up at me with that look. Tessa lifts
herself up and stares down at me, eyes wild.
“What would you like to do, drunk ass?”
“Pull your hair.” She grins and pulls her bottom lip between
her teeth in the most sinful way.
chapter
one hundred and seventeen
HARDIN
Can’t sleep?” Christian turns on the overhead light and joins
me in the kitchen.
“Tessa needed some water,” I tell him. I push the
refrigerator door closed, but he stops it with his hand.
“Kim, too. The price of drinking too much champagne,” he
says from behind me.
Tessa’s endless giggles and insatiable appetite for pleasure
have worn me out. I’m convinced she’ll be vomiting soon if
she doesn’t drink some water. Visions of her tonight, lying
back on the bed, her legs spread for me as I brought her to
orgasm using both my fingers and my tongue, flash through
my mind. She was amazing, as she always was when she rode
my cock until I emptied myself into a condom.
“Yeah, Tessa’s a mess.” I bite back a smile while
remembering her tumble off the bed.
“So . . . England next weekend, then?” He changes the
subject.
“Nah, I’m not going.”
“This is your mum’s wedding we’re talking about.”
“And? It’s not her first, probably won’t be the last,” I say.
To say I’m completely shocked when his hand reaches out
and knocks the bottled water from my hand would be an
understatement.
“What the fuck?” I exclaim and bend down to grab the
bottle.
When I stand back up, Vance’s eyes are focused on me, and
the look in them is intense. “You have no right to speak of
your mum that way.”
“What does it matter to you? I don’t want to go, and I’m
not going to.”
“Give me a reason, a real one,” he challenges me.
What the fuck is his problem? “I don’t need to give anyone
a reason. I just don’t want to go to a stupid wedding. I’ve
already been dragged to one this season, and that was enough
for me.”
“Fine. I’ve already sent in for Tessa’s passport, so I assume
you’ll be fine without her while she enjoys visiting England
for the first time as Kim’s companion?”
I drop the bottle to the floor. It can stay there this time.
“You what?” I stare at him. He’s fucking with me—he has
to be.
He leans against the island and crosses his arms. “I sent in
her application and paid for it the moment I found out about
the wedding. She’ll have to go downtown to finalize it and get
her picture taken, but I’ve done the rest.”
I’m fuming. I can feel myself heating up. “Why would you
even do that? That’s not even legal.” Like I give a fuck if it’s
legal . . .
“Because I knew you’d be a stubborn asshole about the
entire thing, and I also knew that she was the only shot I had to
get you to go. This is important to your mum, and she’s been
worried that you won’t go.”
“She’s right to be worried. You two think you can use Tessa
to bully me into going to fucking England? Fuck both you and
my mum.” I open his refrigerator to grab another bottle of
water just to be a dick, but he kicks it closed with his foot.
“Look, I know you’ve had a shit life, okay? So did I, so I
get it. But you won’t be talking to me the way you talk to your
parents.”
“Then stop trying to meddle in my goddamned life the way
they do.”
“I’m not meddling. You know damn well that Tessa would
love to go to that wedding, and you also know that you’ll feel
like an asshole if you deprive her of the opportunity for your
own selfish reasons. You may as well get over being mad at
me and thank me for making your week much easier.”
I stare at him for a few moments to take in what he is
saying. He’s half right: I’ve already started to feel bad for not
wanting to go to the wedding. The only reason being that I
know how much Tessa would love to go. She’s already pouted
about it enough tonight, and it’s been wearing on my mind.
“I’ll take your silence as a thank-you.” Vance smirks, and I
roll my eyes.
“I don’t want this to become a thing.”
“What? The wedding?”
“Yeah. How can I take her to another wedding and watch
her eyes get all doelike and watery only to have to remind her
that she won’t ever have that?”
Christian’s fingers tap against his chin. “Ahh, I see.” His
smile grows. “That’s what this is about, then? You don’t want
her getting any ideas?”
“No. She already has the ideas. The woman’s mind is full
of ideas—that’s the problem.”
“Why would it be a problem? You don’t want her to make
an honest man out of you?” Though he’s taunting me, I’m glad
to see that he isn’t holding a grudge against me for my rude
remarks only minutes ago. This is why I sort of like Vance:
he’s not as touchy as my father.
“Because it’s not going to happen, and she’s one of those
crazy women who bring the shit up like a month after dating.
She literally broke up with me because I said I wouldn’t marry
her. She’s batshit crazy sometimes.”
Vance chuckles and takes a sip of the water meant for his
Kimberly. Tessa is waiting on me to bring her water, too; I
need to tie this conversation up. It’s already been too long, too
personal, for my liking.
“Consider yourself lucky that she wants that with you. You
aren’t exactly the easiest guy to be around. And if anyone
knows that, it’s her.”
I begin to ask him what the fuck he even knows about my
relationship, but then I quickly remember that he’s engaged to
the biggest mouth in Seattle. Scratch that, the entire state of
Washington . . . perhaps even the entire United States of—
“Am I right?” He interrupts my thoughts about his
obnoxious woman.
“Yes, but still. It’s ridiculous to think about marriage at all,
especially when she’s not even twenty.”
“This is coming from the man who doesn’t want her more
than three feet away from him at any given time?”
“Asshole,” I gripe.
“It’s true.”
“Doesn’t mean you’re not an asshole.”
“Perhaps. I do find it amusing, though, that you don’t
intend on marrying her but you can’t seem to control your
temper or anxiety when it comes to losing her.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I don’t think I want to
know the answer to this question, but it’s too late now.
Vance’s eyes meet mine. “Your anxiety . . . it’s at its highest
when you’re worried about her leaving you or when another
man pays any attention to her.”
“Who says I have anxie—”
But the stubborn goat ignores me and continues on. “You
know what helps a hell of a lot when it comes to both of those
things?”
“What’s that?”
“A ring.” He holds up his hand and touches the bare finger
where a wedding band will soon rest.
“Oh my fuck—she’s gotten to you, too! What did she do,
pay you off?” I laugh at the idea. It’s not exactly too far-
fetched, considering Tessa’s obsession with marriage and her
charm.
“No, you twat!” He throws the cap of the water bottle at
me. “It’s the truth. Imagine being able to say she’s yours and
have it be true. Now it’s only words, an empty boast to other
men who will want her—and trust me, they will—but when
Tessa’s your wife, it’s real. That’s when it’s fucking real, and it
couldn’t be more satisfying, especially for overly paranoid
men like you and me.”
My mouth is dry by the end of his speech, and I want to
hightail it out of this excessively bright kitchen. “That’s a load
of shit.” The words rush from my mouth.
He walks over and opens a cabinet while talking. “Have
you ever watched that show Sex and the City?”
“No.”
“Sex in the City, Sex and the City—I don’t remember.”
“No, no, and no,” I respond.
“Kim watches it all the time; she has every season on
DVD.” Christian tears open a box of cookies.
It’s two in the morning. Tessa is waiting for me, and here I
am talking about some shit show. “Okay?”
“There’s this episode where the women are talking about
how you only get two great loves in your life—”
“Okay . . . okay. This is getting too fucking weird,” I say,
turning to go. “Tessa is waiting for me.”
“I know . . . I know . . . let me finish really quick. I’ll sum it
up for you in the most masculine way possible.”
I turn back to find him looking at me expectantly, so I nod
hesitantly.
“So they were saying that you only get two great loves in
your entire life. My point is . . . well, I have sort of lost my
point, but I know that Tessa’s your great love.”
I’m lost. “You said we get two?”
“Well, for you, the other is your own self.” He snorts. “I
thought that was obvious.”
I raise a brow. “And yours were who? Bigmouth and
Smith’s mum?”
“Watch it . . .” he warns.
“Sorry, Kimberly and Rose.” I roll my eyes again. “They
were yours? You better hope those broads on that show were
wrong.”
“Uhh, yes. Those two were m-mine,” he stutters. An
emotion flashes across his face, but it disappears before I can
really nail down what it was.
Tipping the water bottle to him, I say, “Well, now that
you’ve made no point whatsoever, I’m going to bed.”
“Yeah . . .” he says, slightly flustered. “I don’t even know
what I’m going on about. I drank too much tonight.”
“Yeah . . . okay.” I leave him alone in the kitchen. I don’t
know what the hell that was all about, but it was odd seeing
the one and only Christian Vance at a loss for words.
By the time I get back to the room, Tessa is asleep on her
side. Her hands are resting under her cheek, and her knees are
tucked up against her body.
I flick the light off and set her water bottle on the
nightstand before climbing into bed behind her. Her naked
body is warm to my touch, and I can’t help but shiver as the
tracing of my fingertips causes small goose bumps to rise on
her skin. They comfort me, reminding me that my touch, even
in her sleep, awakens something in her.
“Hey,” she whispers sleepily.
I jump slightly at her voice and nuzzle my head in her neck,
pulling her closer to me. “We’re going to England next
weekend,” I tell her.
She quickly turns her head to look behind her. The room is
pretty dark, but there’s enough moonlight for me to see the
shock on her face. “What?”
“England. Next weekend. You and me.”
“But—”
“No. You’re going. And I know you want to go, so don’t try
to argue about it.”
“You don’t have—”
“Theresa. Let it go.” I press my hand over her mouth, and
she uses her teeth to softly nip at the skin of my palm. “Are
you going to be a good girl and keep quiet if I move my
hand?” I tease her, thinking back to her earlier accusation that
I was parenting her.
She nods her head, and I let her go. She lifts herself up onto
her elbow and turns to face me. I can’t possibly hold a
conversation with her when she’s naked and feisty.
“But I don’t have a passport!” she cries out, and I hide my
smile. I knew she wasn’t done.
“It’s already in the works. We’ll figure the rest out
tomorrow.”
“But—”
“Theresa . . .”
“Two times in one minute? Uh-oh.” She grins.
“You’re never drinking champagne again.” I push her
messy hair away from her eyes and trace the shape of her
bottom lip with my thumb.
“You certainly weren’t complaining earlier when I was—”
I silence her drunken mouth by pressing my lips against
hers. I love her so much, so fucking much that it frightens me
to think about losing her.
Do I really want to mix her—my potential future, the only
shot I have at a decent one—with my wicked past?
chapter
one hundred and eighteen
TESSA
When I wake up, Hardin isn’t draped over me, and the room
is too bright even when I close my eyes again. Keeping them
closed, I groan, “What time is it?”
My head is throbbing, and even though I know I’m lying
down, my body feels like it’s swaying back and forth.
“Noon,” Hardin’s deep voice says from across the room.
“Noon! I missed my first two classes!” I try to sit up, but
my head spins. I fall back onto the mattress with a whimper.
“You’re fine; go back to sleep.”
“No! I can’t miss any more classes, Hardin. I just started
classes at this campus, and I can’t begin this way.” I begin to
panic. “I’m going to be so behind.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Hardin says with a shrug,
crossing the room to sit on the bed. “You probably already
have the assignments completed anyway.”
He knows me too well. “That’s not the point. The point is
that I missed the lecture, and it makes me look bad.”
“To whom?” Hardin asks. I know he is mocking me.
“To my professors, my classmates.”
“Tessa, I love you, but come on. Your classmates couldn’t
give less of a fuck if you’re there or not. They probably didn’t
even notice. Your professors, yeah, because you’re a suck-up
and they like the ego boosts your fawning gives them. But
your classmates don’t care, and if they do, then so what? Their
opinion doesn’t fucking matter.”
“I guess.” I close my eyes and try to see his point. I hate
being late, missing classes, sleeping until noon. “I’m not a
suck-up,” I add.
“How are you feeling?” I feel the mattress shift, and when I
open my eyes he’s lying next to me.
“Like I had too much to drink last night.” My skull is ready
to explode.
“You certainly did.” He nods several times, very seriously.
“How’s your ass feeling?” His hand grips my behind, and I
wince.
“We didn’t . . .” I wasn’t that intoxicated . . . was I?
“No.” He chuckles, kneading the skin with his hand. His
eyes meet mine. “Not yet.”
I gulp.
“Only if you want to. You’ve turned into a fucking vixen,
so I assumed that would be next on your list.”
Me, a vixen?
“Don’t look so frightened, it was only a suggestion.” He
smiles at me.
I can’t decide how I feel about doing that . . . and I certainly
can’t keep up or process this type of conversation right now.
But my curiosity gets the best of me.
“Have you . . .” I don’t know how to ask the question—this
is one of the few things we’ve never discussed; him saying
dirty things about doing it to me in the heat of the moment
doesn’t count. “Have you done that before?”
I search his face for the answer.
“No, actually, I haven’t.”
“Oh.” I’m too aware of his fingers tapping along the bare
skin where the line of my panties would be, were I wearing
any. The fact that Hardin has never experienced that before
makes me want to do it, sort of.
“What are you thinking? I see those wheels turning.” He
nudges my nose with his, and I smile under his stare.
“I like that you haven’t done . . . it before . . .”
“Why?” His brow raises, and I hide my face.
“I don’t know.” I’m suddenly shy. I don’t want to sound
insecure or start a fight. I already have a hangover.
“Tell me,” he demands softly.
“I don’t know. It would just be nice to be your first for
something.”
He lifts himself up on his elbow and looks down at me.
“What do you mean?”
“I just mean that you’ve done a lot of stuff . . . you know,
sexually . . .” I quietly explain. “And I haven’t given you any
new experiences.”
He eyes me carefully, as if he’s afraid to reply. “That’s not
true.”
“It is, though.” I’m pouting again.
“Like hell it is. That’s bullshit, and you know it.” His voice
is practically a growl, and he’s scowling deeply.
“Don’t snap at me—how do you think I feel that you
haven’t been with only me?” I say. The reminder doesn’t come
as often as it once did, but when it does, it stings terribly.
He winces and gently tugs at both of my arms to pull me to
sit up next to him. “Come here.” I feel myself being lifted onto
his lap; his half-naked body is warm and welcoming
underneath my completely bare skin.
“I didn’t think of it that way,” he says into my shoulder,
making me shudder. “If you had been with anyone else, I
wouldn’t be with you now.”
My head snaps back to look at him. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He kisses the curve of my shoulder.
“That’s not a very nice thing to say.” I’m used to Hardin’s
unfiltered mouth, but these words surprise me. He can’t mean
them.
“I never claimed to be nice.”
I shift my body on his lap and ignore the groan deep in his
throat. “You’re being serious?”
“Very.” He nods.
“So you’re telling me if I hadn’t been a virgin, you
wouldn’t have dated me?” This topic isn’t one we typically
discuss, and I’m nervous to find out where it will lead.
His eyes narrow as he regards my expression before
muttering, “That’s exactly what I’m saying. If you recall, I
didn’t really want to date you anyway.” He grins, but I scowl.
I press my feet to the floor to lift myself off of his lap, but
he holds me in place. “Don’t pout,” he coaxes and attempts to
press his lips against mine, but I quickly turn my head.
I glare at him. “Maybe you shouldn’t have dated me, then.”
I feel overly sensitive, and my feelings are hurt.
I add gasoline to the fire and wait for the explosion:
“Maybe you should have just ended it after you won the bet.”
I stare into his green eyes, waiting for a reaction. Still, it
doesn’t come. He throws his back in laughter, and my favorite
sound fills the room.
“Don’t be such a baby,” Hardin says and hugs me tighter,
taking both of my wrists in one hand to prevent me from
wiggling off his lap. “Just because I didn’t want to date you in
the beginning doesn’t mean that I’m not glad I am.”
“It’s still not nice to say, and you said you wouldn’t be with
me now if I’d been with someone else. So if I had slept with
Noah before I met you, you wouldn’t have dated me?”
He flinches at the words. “No. I wouldn’t have. We
wouldn’t have been in that . . . situation . . . if you weren’t a
virgin.” He’s treading lightly now. Good.
“ ‘Situation,’ ” I repeat, still irritated. It comes out harsher
than I intended.
“Yes, situation.” He abruptly turns me around and lays me
back against the mattress. He moves his body on top of mine
and pins my wrists up over my head using only one hand and
his knees to push open my thighs. “I wouldn’t be able to stand
it if you’d been touched by another man. I know it’s fucking
crazy, but that’s the damn truth, whether you want to hear it or
not.”
His breath is warm against my face, coming out in hot
puffs. Momentarily I forget why I’m annoyed with him. He’s
being honest, I’ll give him that, but it’s an obnoxious double
standard that he’s describing.
“Whatever.”
“ ‘Whatever’?” He chuckles, tightening his hand around my
wrists. He flexes his hips, pressing his boxer-clad body
between my thighs. “Stop being ridiculous, you know how I
am.” I feel so exposed right now, and his dominating behavior
is turning me on more than it should.
He continues. “And you know you’ve given me new
experiences. I’ve never loved anyone, romantically, or even
family, really . . .” His eyes drift off to ponder what I guess is a
painful memory, but then he quickly returns to me. “And I’ve
never lived with anyone. I never gave a fuck about losing
anyone before, but when it comes to you, I wouldn’t survive it.
That’s a new experience.” His lips ghost over mine. “Is that
enough ‘new experience’ for you?”
I nod, and he smiles. If I lift my head up just a centimeter,
my lips will touch his. He seems to read my thoughts and pulls
his head back a bit. “And don’t throw that bet shit in my face
again,” he threatens, rubbing himself against me. A
treacherous moan escapes his mouth, and his eyes darken.
“Got it?”
“Sure.” I defiantly roll my eyes at him, and he frees my
wrists, running his hand down my body, stopping on my hip
and squeezing gently.
“You’re being a brat today.” He draws circles on my hip,
putting more weight on my body.
I feel like a brat today; I’m hungover and hormonal.
“You’re being an ass, so I guess we’re even,” I fire back.
He bites the inside of his cheek, then dips his head down to
me. Hardin’s lips are warm as he kisses me along my jawline,
sending a direct line of electricity to my groin. I wrap my legs
around his waist and close the small space that’s left between
our bodies.
“I’ve only loved you,” he reminds me again, soothing the
small ache from his earlier words. His lips reach the base of
my neck, and one of his hands cups my breast while he uses
the other to hold his body up. “I’ll always only love you.”
I don’t speak. I don’t want to ruin this moment. I love when
he’s candid about his feelings for me, and for once I can see
this all in a new light. Steph, Molly, and half of the dang
campus of WCU may have fooled around with Hardin, but
none of them, not one single girl, has ever gotten to hear him
say “I love you.” They haven’t had, and will never have, the
privilege of knowing him, the real him, the way that I do. They
have no idea how wonderful and incredibly brilliant he is.
They don’t get to hear him laugh and watch his eyes screw
shut and his dimples pop. They’ll never get to hear the
snippets of his life or hear the conviction in his voice when he
swears that he loves me more than breathing. And for that, I
pity them.
“I’ve only loved you,” I tell him in return. The love I had
for Noah wasn’t anything beyond family. I know that now. I
love Hardin in that all-consuming, incredible way that I know,
deep down, I will never feel again.
I feel Hardin’s hand move to his boxers. He tugs them
down, and I use my feet to help him get rid of them. In a
gentle motion, he slides into me, crying out as he plunges
through the slick opening.
“Again,” he begs.
“I’ve only loved you,” I repeat.
“Fucking Christ, Tess, I love you so much.” The words are
a raw confession as they push through his gritted mouth.
“I will always only love you,” I promise him. I send a silent
prayer that we’ll find a way to work through all of our
problems, because I know what I just said is true. It will
always be him. Even if something drove us apart.
Hardin’s thrusts are deep, filling and claiming me as he
bites and sucks at the skin on my neck with his warm, wet
mouth.
“I can feel you, every single inch . . . you’re so fucking
warm . . .” he groans, making it known that he hasn’t put a
condom on. Even through the euphoric trance, warning bells
go off in my head. I blink the sensation away and revel in the
feeling of Hardin’s strong muscles straining under my hands as
I run my hands over his broad shoulders and inked arms.
“You have to put one on,” I say, though my actions are the
opposite of my words; I tighten my legs around his waist,
drawing him deeper. My stomach begins to coil, tightening . . .
“I . . . can’t stop . . .” His pace quickens, and I think I’ll
snap in two if he stops now.
“Don’t, then.” We’re both insane, not thinking clearly, but I
can’t stop raking my nails down his back, encouraging him.
“Fuck, come, Tessa,” he instructs me as if I have a choice.
As I reach the brink of orgasm, I’m afraid I may pass out from
the amount of pleasure I feel when his teeth graze across my
chest, tugging, marking me there. With another groan of my
name and a declaration of his love for me, Hardin halts his
movements, and he pulls himself out of me, releasing himself
onto the bare skin of my stomach. I watch in awe as he
touches himself, marking me in the most possessive way while
never breaking eye contact.
He collapses onto me, shaking and out of breath. We lie in
silence, neither of us needing to speak to know what the other
is thinking.
“WHERE DO YOU want to go?” I ask him. I don’t even want
to leave the bed, but Hardin offering to take me out in Seattle,
during the day, is something that hasn’t happened in the past,
and I’m not sure if or when it will happen again.
“I don’t give a shit, really. Maybe, like, shopping?” His
eyes roam my face. “Do you need to go shopping? Or want
to?”
“I don’t really need anything . . .” I answer. When I look up
and see how nervous he looks lying there next to me, I
backtrack. “Yeah, sure. Shopping is fine.”
He’s making such an effort. Simple things that couples
usually do are completely out of Hardin’s comfort zone. I
smile at him, remembering the night he took me ice skating to
prove that he could, in fact, be a regular boyfriend.
It was so much fun, and he was so charming and playful,
much like he’s been the past week and a half. I don’t want a
“regular” boyfriend—I want Hardin, with his crude humor and
sour attitude, to take me on simple dates every once in a while
and make me feel secure enough in our relationship that the
downs will be washed away by the ups.
“Cool.” He shifts uncomfortably.
“I just need to brush my teeth and tie my hair back.”
“And maybe get dressed.” He cups the overly sensitive area
between my thighs. Hardin has already used one of his shirts
to wipe me clean, something he used to do all the time.
“Right. Maybe I should rinse off in the shower.” I gulp,
wondering if Hardin and I will go another round before we
leave. Frankly, I don’t know if either of us could handle it.
I stand up from the bed and wince. I knew I was going to be
starting my period any day now; why did it have to come right
now, of all days? I suppose it works in my favor, though, since
it’ll be gone by the time we leave for England.
Leave for England . . . it doesn’t seem real.
“What?” Hardin says with a questioning look.
“I’m . . . it’s that time . . .” I look away from him, knowing
that he’s had an entire month to store up his jokes.
“Hmm . . . and what time is that?” He smirks, looking at his
bare wrist as if there’s a watch there.
“Don’t . . .” I whine, pressing my thighs together so I can
hurry and put on enough clothes to make it to the bathroom.
“Would you look at that? A hangover and a bloody
attitude!” he taunts.
“Your jokes are terrible.” I pull his T-shirt over my head
and catch the languid smile he shoots at me as he takes in the
sight of me wearing his shirt again.
“Terrible, huh?” His green eyes dance with amusement.
“Maybe so terrible that you want to pull the plug on them?”
I hurry and exit the room while he’s still laughing to
himself.
chapter
one hundred and nineteen
HARDIN
I didn’t even know you two were here. I thought Tessa had
classes today,” Kimberly says to me when I enter the kitchen.
Why is she even here?
“She wasn’t feeling well,” I reply. “Aren’t you supposed to
be at work . . . or is staying home another perk of fucking your
boss?”
“Actually, I don’t feel well either, you ass.” She tosses a
wadded-up piece of paper at me but misses.
“You and Tessa should really learn how to hold your
champagne,” I tell her.
She flips me off.
The microwave sounds, and she pulls out a plastic bowl
filled with something that looks and smells like cat food, then
sits down at the countertop. She inhales forkful after forkful. I
lift my fingers to safeguard my nose.
“That smells like pure shit,” I remark.
“Where’s Tessa? She’ll shut you up.”
“Wouldn’t count on it.” I grin. I have sort of come to like
taunting Vance’s fiancée. She has a thick skin, and she’s
obnoxious enough that I’m provided with plenty of
ammunition.
“Wouldn’t count on what?” Tessa joins us in the kitchen
dressed in a sweatshirt, tight jeans, and those slipper things she
swears are shoes. Really, they’re nothing but overpriced cloth
wrapped around a piece of cardboard, using the pretense of
charity to rip off stupid consumers. She disagrees, of course,
so I’ve learned to keep this opinion to myself.
“Nothing.” I dig my hands into my pockets to fight the urge
to nudge Kimberly’s smug ass off the stool.
“He’s mouthing off, nothing new.” Kim takes another bite
of her cat food.
“Let’s go, she’s annoying,” I say just loud enough for Kim
to hear.
“Be nice,” Tessa scolds me. I take her hand in mine and
lead her out of the house.
When we get into the car, Tessa shoves a handful of plugs
into my glove compartment. An idea strikes me. “You need to
get on birth control,” I tell her. I’ve been so careless lately, and
now that I’ve felt her without a condom, there’s no going back.
“I know. I keep meaning to make a doctor’s appointment,
but it’s hard to get an appointment with student insurance.”
“Sure, sure.”
“Maybe later this week I can get in. I need to do it soon;
you’re careless lately,” she says.
“Careless? Me?” I scoff, trying not to panic. “You’re the
one that keeps catching me off guard, and I can’t think
straight.”
“Oh please!” She giggles and leans her head back against
the headrest.
“Hey, if you want to ruin your life by having a child, go for
it, but you sure as hell aren’t taking me down with you.” I
squeeze her thigh, and she frowns. “What?”
“Nothing,” she lies, faking a smile.
“Tell me, now.”
“Children are something we shouldn’t discuss, remember?”
“I agree . . . So let’s cut out the middleman and get your ass
on birth control so we don’t have to ever talk or worry about
children again.”
“I’ll find a clinic to go to today so that your future isn’t in
jeopardy,” she flatly remarks.
I’ve made her upset, but there really isn’t a nice way for me
to tell her that she needs to get on birth control if she’s going
to be fucking me multiple times a day whenever we’re near
each other.
After making a few phone calls, she announces, “I have an
appointment Monday.”
“Good.” I run my hand over my hair before placing it back
onto her thigh.
I turn on the radio and follow the directions on my phone to
the nearest mall.
BY THE TIME we’ve walked around the mall once, I’m bored
out of my mind with Seattle. The only thing keeping me
entertained is Tessa. Even when she’s quiet, I can read her
thoughts just by watching her expressions. I watch her watch
people as they rush through the mall. She frowns when an
angry mother swats her child’s ass in the middle of a store, and
I guide her out before the scene—and her reaction to it—get
out of hand. We have lunch at a quiet pizza parlor, and Tessa
fills the entire meal with talk about a new book series she’s
been thinking about reading. I know how judgmental she can
be about modern novels, so this surprises and intrigues me.
“I’ll have to download them when I get my e-reader back
from you,” she says, swiping a napkin across her mouth. “I
can’t wait to have my bracelet back, too. And the letter.”
I force myself not to panic and shove almost an entire piece
of pizza into my mouth so I’m unable to respond. I can’t tell
her I destroyed it, so I’m really grateful when she moves to
another subject.
The day ends with Tessa falling asleep in the car. She’s
made a habit of that lately, and for some reason, I love it. I
take the long way back to the house, just like I did the last
time.
TESSA’S ALARM didn’t wake me, and neither did she. I’m
less than pleased that I didn’t get to see her before she left this
morning, especially since she’ll be gone all day. When I
glance at the clock on the wall, it shows almost noon; at least
she’ll be taking lunch soon.
I dress quickly and leave the house for the new Vance
Publishing branch office. It’s strange to think that I could be
working there with her, the two of us driving to work together
each morning, making the drive back home together . . . we
could actually live together again.
Space, Hardin, she wants space. I laugh at the idea; we
aren’t giving each other any space, really—only three days a
week, tops. What we’re doing is just making seeing each other
more of a pain in the ass, with the excessive driving and
distance.
When I get inside the building, I find that the Seattle office
is fucking outrageously lavish. It’s much bigger than the shit
office I worked at. I don’t miss working in a stuffy cubicle,
that’s for damned sure, but this place is nice. Vance wouldn’t
allow me to work from home. It was Brent, my boss at
Bolthouse, that recommended I do my work for him from my
living room in order to “keep the peace.” It works out
perfectly for me, even more so now that Tessa’s in Seattle, so
joke is on those overly sensitive fucks in the office.
I’m surprised when I don’t get lost in this maze of a fucking
building.
When I reach the reception area, Kimberly beams at me
from behind her desk. “Hello. How may I help you?” she says
with emphasis, showing me her ability to remain professional.
“Where’s Tessa?”
“In her office,” she says, dropping the facade.
“And that is . . .” I lean against the wall and wait for her to
show me to Tessa.
“Down the hall. Her name is on the plate outside.” She
glances back to her computer screen, dismissing me. Rude.
What exactly does Vance pay her to do? Whatever it is, it
must be worth it for him to be able to fuck her on a constant
and keep him nearby during the day. I shake my head, ridding
it of the images of the two of them.
“Thanks for your help,” I gripe and head down the long
narrow hallway.
When I reach Tessa’s office, I open the door without
knocking. The room is empty. I reach into my pocket and grab
my phone to call her; seconds later I hear a rattling noise and
see her phone vibrating on her desk. Where the hell is she?
I go down the hallway in search of her. I know Zed is in
town, and that has me seeing red. I swear to fucking . . .
“Hardin Scott?” a woman’s voice asks from behind me as I
turn and enter what looks like a small break room.
I turn around to find a familiar face. “Um . . . hey?” I can’t
remember where I’ve seen her before, but I know that I have.
Realization hits me when she’s joined by another woman.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. The universe is playing
a sick fucking joke on me, and it’s pissing me the fuck off.
Tabitha grins at me. “Well . . . well . . . well . . .”
Tessa’s tales of woe about two bitchy office bullies make so
much more sense now.
Since clearly neither of us is going to stand on ceremony, I
just say, “You’re the one giving Tessa shit, aren’t you.” If I had
any idea that Tabitha had transferred to the Seattle office, I’d
have known instantly that she was the bitch in question. She
was known for that back when I worked for Vance, and I’m
sure she hasn’t changed.
“What? Me?” She flips her hair over her shoulder and
smiles. She looks different . . . unnatural, really. The little
minion who’s following in her wake has the same orange
shade to her skin . . . they should stop bathing in food coloring,
perhaps.
“Cut the shit. Don’t mess with her; she’s trying to adjust to
a new city, and you two aren’t going to ruin it for her by being
a assholes to her for no reason.”
“I haven’t even done anything! I was joking anyway.”
Flashes of her sucking my dick in a bathroom stall flash
through my mind, and I swallow the uneasy feeling that comes
with the unwelcome memory.
“Don’t do it anymore,” I warn her. “I’m not fucking
around. Don’t even speak to her.”
“Jesus, you’re still as cheery as ever, I see. I won’t mess
with her anymore. I wouldn’t want you telling Mr. Vance on
me and getting me fired like you did Sam—”
“That wasn’t my fault.”
“Yes, it was!” she whispers dramatically, “As soon as her
man found out what you two were doing . . . what you did . . .
she was mysteriously let go the very same week.” Tabitha was
easy, so damn easy, and so was Samantha. The moment that I
found out who Samantha’s boyfriend was, she began to appeal
to me. But once I got between her legs, I wanted nothing to do
with her. That little game of mine caused me a lot of shit and
drama that I’d rather not be reminded of, and I sure as hell
don’t want Tessa mixed up in this catty shit.
“You don’t know half of what really happened, so keep
your mouth shut. Leave Tessa alone, and your job will stay
yours.” Truthfully, I may have had a little something to do
with Vance letting Samantha go, but her working there was
causing me too many problems. She was only a freshman in
college, working part-time, as a copy girl.
“Speak of the spoiled little devil,” the short minion remarks
and nods her head toward the door of the small break room.
Tessa is smiling and laughing as she enters. And right
behind her, dressed in one of his little suits and ties, is fucking
Trevor, smiling and laughing along with her.
The little twat spots me first and touches Tessa’s arm to
draw her attention to me. It takes every ounce of my self-
control not to snap him in two. When she sees me from across
the room, her face lights up, her smile widens, and she rushes
over. Only when she reaches me does she notice Tabitha
standing next to me.
“Hey,” she says, unsure now, nervous.
“Bye, Tabitha.” I wave the snooty woman off. She whispers
something to her friend, and the two of them leave the room.
“Bye, Trevor,” I say quietly enough that only Tessa hears.
“Stop it!” She swats my arm in the pestering way that she
always does.
“Hello, Hardin,” Trevor greets me, ever so politely. His arm
twitches at his side, like he’s trying to decide whether or not to
offer his hand for a shake. I hope for his sake that he doesn’t. I
won’t accept it.
“Hi,” I say curtly.
“What are you doing here?” Tessa asks. She looks out into
the hallway for the two women that just left. I know what she’s
really asking: How do you know them, and what did they say?
“Tabitha won’t be a problem anymore.”
She gapes, her eyes wide. “What did you do?”
I shrug. “Nothing, I just told her what you should have—to
fuck off.”
Tessa smiles at fucking Trevor, and he sits down at one of
the tables, trying not to look at the two of us. I find his
discomfort pretty damn amusing.
“Did you have lunch already?” I ask. She shakes her head.
“Let’s get you something to eat, then.” I give the eavesdropper
a fuck-you glare and lead Tessa out of the room and down the
hallway.
“The place next door has really good tacos,” she says.
It turns out she’s wrong. The tacos are shit, but she devours
her plate and most of mine. Afterward, she flushes and blames
her appetite on her hormones; when she threatens to “shove a
tampon down my throat” if I make one more joke about her
period, I just laugh.
“I still want to go back tomorrow to see everyone and get
my stuff,” she says, washing down the spicy salsa she just
finished with some water.
“Don’t you think going to England next weekend is enough
traveling?” I say, trying to derail her plans.
“No. I want to see Landon. I miss him so much.”
An unwarranted pang of jealousy hits me, but I brush it off.
He is her only friend, save annoying-ass Kimberly.
“He’ll still be there when we get back from England . . .”
“Hardin, please.” She looks up at me, not asking for
permission like she sometimes does. This time she’s asking for
my cooperation, and I can tell by the gleam in her eye that
she’s going back to see Landon whether I want her to or not.
“Fine. Fuck,” I groan.
This can’t possibly go well. I look across the table at her,
and she’s smiling proudly, I don’t know if she’s proud of
herself for winning this argument or proud of me for giving in,
but she looks so beautiful. So relaxed.
“I like that you came here today.” She takes my hand as we
walk down the busy street. Why are there so many people in
Seattle?
“You do?” I figured as much, but I had a little anxiety that
she might be angry at me for showing up unannounced, not
that I would have given a shit, but still.
“Yes.” She blinks up at me, stopping in the middle of a
swarm of rushing bodies. “I almost . . .” She trails off without
finishing.
“You almost what?” I stop her attempt at walking farther
and pull her to the wall beside a jewelry store. The sun reflects
off the enormous diamond rings on display in the window, and
I lead her a few feet down the brick wall to get away from the
glare.
“It’s silly.” She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and
stares at the cement. “But I feel like I can breathe for the first
time in months.”
“Is that a good thing or . . .” I start to ask, tilting her chin so
she has no choice but to look at my face.
“Yes, it’s a good thing. I feel like for once everything is
working out. I know it hasn’t been for long, but this is the
most functional we have ever been. We’ve only had a handful
of arguments, and we communicated our way through them.
I’m proud of us.”
Her comment amuses me, because we still argue and banter
constantly. It’s not only a handful of arguments, but she’s
right: we’ve been talking our way through things. I love that
we argue, and I think she does, too. We’re totally different
people—we couldn’t be more different, really—and getting
along with her all the time would be boring as hell. I couldn’t
live without her constant need to correct me or her nagging
about my mess-making. She’s annoying as hell, but I wouldn’t
change a fucking thing about her. Except her need to be in
Seattle.
“Functional is highly overrated, baby.” To prove my point, I
lift her by the thighs, wrapping her legs around my waist, and
kiss her against the wall right in the middle of one of the
busiest streets in Seattle.
chapter
one hundred and twenty
TESSA
How much longer?” Hardin complains from the passenger
seat.
“Less than five minutes; we just passed Conner’s.” I know
he’s well aware of how short the distance is from here to the
apartment; it’s just that he can’t keep himself from
complaining. Hardin drove most of the way until I finally
persuaded him to let me finish the trip. His eyes were nearly
closing, and I knew he needed a break. My point was proven
when he stretched his arm across the center console, holding
me as best he could while I was driving, and fell asleep almost
instantly.
“Landon is still there, right? You talked to him?” I ask. I’m
beyond excited to see my best friend. It’s been far too long,
and I miss his kind words of wisdom and never-faltering
smile.
“Yes, for the tenth time,” Hardin replies, clearly annoyed.
He’s been anxious the entire drive, even though he won’t
admit it. He shrugs it off like he’s annoyed because of the
distance, but I get the feeling there’s something else behind his
frustration. I’m not entirely sure that I want to discover what it
is.
When I pull into the parking lot of the apartment building
that I used to call home, my stomach turns, and my
nervousness begins to creep to the surface.
“It’ll be fine.” Hardin’s reassuring words surprise me as we
enter the front door.
The small elevator feels so alien as it rises up the building.
It feels as if so much more than only three weeks have passed.
Hardin keeps his hand over mine until we reach the door,
where he slides the key into the lock and pushes it open.
Landon jumps to his feet from the couch and strides across
the room with the brightest smile I’ve seen him wear in the
seven months since we became friends. His arms wrap around
my back, and he hugs me, welcoming me, and making me
aware of just how much I’ve missed him. Before I know it,
I’m sobbing and heaving deep breaths into my friend’s chest.
I’m not sure why I’m crying so much. I’ve just missed
Landon terribly, and his warm reaction to my return made me
emotional.
“Can her old man get a turn?” I hear my father say from
somewhere a little ways off.
Landon starts to back away, but Hardin says, “In a
moment,” and nods toward Landon, assessing my mental state.
I launch myself at Landon again, and his familiar arms
wrap around my back again. “I missed you so much,” I tell
him.
His shoulders visibly relax, and he unwraps his arms from
my body. When I go to hug my father, Landon stays nearby,
his smile still bright and loving as ever. Looking at my father, I
realize that he must have known that I’d be coming to visit. It
looks like he’s wearing Landon’s clothes and they’re tight on
his body. I notice that his face is clean-shaven.
“Look at you!” I exclaim with a smile. “No beard!”
He whoops a loud laugh and hugs me tighter. “Yeah, no
more beard for me,” he says.
“How was the drive?” Landon asks, shoving his hands into
the pockets of his navy-colored slacks.
“Shit,” Hardin says at the exact moment I say, “Good.”
Landon and my father both laugh, Hardin looks annoyed,
and I’m just happy to be home . . . with my best friend and the
closest relative that I’m in contact with. Which only reminds
me that I have to call my mother, which I keep putting off.
“I’m going to put your bag in the bedroom,” Hardin
announces, leaving the three of us to continue our welcoming.
I watch as he disappears into the room we once shared. His
shoulders are set low, and I want to follow after him, but I
don’t.
“I’ve missed you too much, Tessie. How’s Seattle treating
you?” my father asks. It’s odd to look at him now, wearing one
of Landon’s collared shirts and dress slacks, with no hair on
his face. He looks like a completely different man. The bags
under his eyes have gotten puffier, though, and I notice the
way his hands are slightly shaking at his sides.
“It’s good, I’m still getting used to it,” I tell him.
He smiles. “That’s good to hear.”
Landon steps closer to me as my father takes a seat on the
edge of the couch. He turns his back away from my father as if
he wants to keep our conversation private. “It feels like you’ve
been gone for months,” he says, holding my gaze as he speaks.
He looks tired, too . . . maybe from staying at the apartment
with my father? I don’t know, but I want to find out.
“It does, I feel like time is strange in Seattle—how is
everything? I feel like we’ve barely talked.” It’s true. I haven’t
called Landon as often as I should have, and he must’ve been
really busy dealing with his last semester at Washington
Central. If less than three weeks is this tough, how will I be
able to bear him moving all the way to New York?
“I knew you’d be busy, everything’s okay,” he says. His
eyes dart to the wall, and I sigh. Why do I feel like I’m
missing something obvious?
“Are you sure?” I glance back and forth between my best
friend and my father, taking in Landon’s drained expression.
“Yeah, we’ll talk about it later,” he says, waving my
concern off. “Now tell me about Seattle!” The dim light that
was in his eyes intensifies into a bright burn of happiness, the
happiness that I have missed so much.
“It’s okay . . .” I trail off, and his forehead creases in a
frown. “Really, it’s okay. Much better now that Hardin is
visiting more.”
“So much for space, huh?” he playfully teases, nudging my
shoulder with the palm of his hand. “You two have the
strangest definition of breaking up.”
I roll my eyes, agreeing, but I say, “It’s been really nice
having him there. I’m still as confused as ever, but Seattle
feels more like the Seattle of my dreams when Hardin is there
with me.”
“I’m happy to hear it.” Landon smiles, his gaze shifting as
Hardin walks up and stands next to me.
Looking around, I say to the three of them, “This place is in
much better condition than I thought it would be.”
“We’ve been cleaning it while Hardin was in Seattle,” my
father says, and I laugh, reminded of Hardin’s grumpy
complaint that the two of them were messing with his things.
I look back at the well-organized foyer, remembering the
very first time I stepped through the door with Hardin. I fell in
love instantly with the old-fashioned charm of the place: the
exposed brick wall was so enchanting, and I was beyond
impressed by the expansive book shelving covering the far
wall. The concrete flooring added to the personality of the
apartment, unique and beautiful. I couldn’t believe that Hardin
had chosen the most perfect space, suiting both of us in a way
I didn’t think was possible. It wasn’t extravagant, not in the
slightest, but it was so beautiful and so thoughtfully laid out. I
remember how nervous he was that I wouldn’t like it. I was
nervous, too, though. I thought he was insane for wanting to
me live with him so soon into our back-and-forth relationship
—and I now know that my apprehensiveness was very well
justified; Hardin had used this apartment as a trap. He thought
that I’d be forced to stay with him after I found out about the
wager he’d made with his group of friends. In a way, it
worked, and I don’t particularly love that part of our past, but I
wouldn’t change it now.
Despite the memories of our happy first days here, for some
reason I still can’t shake the unsettling rustling that I feel in
my stomach. I feel like a stranger here now. The once-
charming brick wall has been stained by bloody knuckles too
many times to count, the books on those shelves have been
witness to too many screaming matches, the pages have
soaked up too many tears in the aftermath of our endless
fighting, and the image of Hardin crumpled on his knees in
front of me is so strong it’s practically imprinted into the floor.
This place is no longer the treasure to me that it once was, and
these walls now hold memories of sadness and betrayal, not
only Hardin’s, but Steph’s as well.
“What’s wrong?” Hardin asks the moment my expression
turns melancholy.
“Nothing, I’m fine,” I tell him. I want to shake off the
unpleasant memories lodging in my mind, taking away from
these moments of happiness at being reunited with Landon and
my father after the lonely weeks I’ve endured in Seattle.
“I’m not buying it,” Hardin huffs, but drops it and walks
into the kitchen. After a second, his voice travels into the
living room. “Is there no food in the place?”
“Ahh, here it goes. It had been so nice and quiet,” my father
whispers to Landon, and they share a friendly laugh. I’m so
thankful to have Landon in my life and to have what seems to
be a budding relationship with my father, though it seems that
Hardin and Landon both know him better than I do.
“I’ll be back in just a minute,” I say.
I want to change out of this heavy sweatshirt; it’s too warm
in the small apartment, and I feel my lungs yearning for a fresh
breath as the moments pass. I need to read Hardin’s letter
again; it’s my favorite thing in the entire world. It’s much
more than a thing to me; it expresses his love and passion in a
way that his mouth never could. I’ve read it so many times that
I have it memorized, but I need to physically touch it again.
Once I hold the tattered and worn pages between my fingers,
all the anxiety I’m feeling will be replaced by his thoughtful
words, and I’ll be able to breathe again and enjoy my weekend
here.
I search the top of the dresser and each drawer before
moving along to the desk. My fingers push through piles of
paper clips and pens to no avail. But where else could he have
placed it?
I find my e-reader and the bracelet resting on top of my
religion journal, but the letter is nowhere to be found. After
placing the bracelet on the desk, I move to the closet and
search through the empty shoe box that Hardin uses to store
his work files during the week. I lift the lid to find it empty
except one single piece of paper, which, I’m sad to see, is not
the letter. What is this, though? Hardin’s handwriting is
scribbled across it from top to bottom, and if I wasn’t so
worried about my letter, I would stop to check it out. It’s really
weird that this paper is randomly here. I make a mental note to
come back and read the scribbles on that page and put the lid
back onto the box and store it back where I found it.
Worrying that I may have overlooked the letter in the
drawer, I march back to the dresser. What if Hardin threw it
away?
No, he wouldn’t; he knows how much that letter means to
me. He’d never do that. I pull my old journal out once more,
turn it upside down, and shake it, hoping the letter will fall out.
I’m beginning to panic, until a flicker of white catches my
attention. It’s a shred of paper, twirling through the air
between my journal and the floor. I reach down and pick it up
just as it lands on the floor.
I recognize the words immediately—they’re practically
etched into my mind. It’s only half a sentence, almost too
small to read, but the ink-smeared words are clearly written in
Hardin’s handwriting. My stomach drops. I stare at the
fragment of paper, and the realization hits me. I just know that
he did, in fact, destroy it. I begin to weep and let the shred slip
from my shaking fingers and fall back to the floor. My heart is
instantly broken, and I begin to wonder just how much one
heart can bear.
chapter
one hundred and twenty-one
HARDIN
You’re free to go.” I release Landon from his babysitting
duties.
“I’m not going, she just got here,” he replies, challenging
me. I guess he’s one of the biggest reasons, if not the only
reason, that she wanted to come to this damned place at all.
“Fine,” I huff and lower my voice. “How was he while I
was gone?” I quietly ask.
“He was good; he’s less shaky, and he hasn’t thrown up
since yesterday morning.”
“Fucking junkie.” I run my hands over my hair. “Fuck.”
“Calm down, it’s all going to work out,” my stepbrother
assures me.
I ignore his words of wisdom and leave him in the kitchen
to find Tessa. When I reach the bedroom door, I hear a
strangled sob coming from inside. I take a quick step forward
to find her with both hands cupped over her mouth, her blue
eyes bloodshot and full of tears as they stare down at the floor.
One more step is all it takes for me to spot what it is that she’s
looking at. Fuck.
Fuck.
“Tess?” I had planned on coming up with a plan to fix the
problem that I created by ripping up that damned letter, but I
just haven’t had the chance yet. I was going to find the pieces
that were left and try to tape them back together . . . or at least
tell Tessa what I did before she found out on her own. Too late
now.
“Tess, I’m sorry!” The apology tumbles out as tears roll
down her tearstained cheeks.
“Why did you—” she sobs, unable to finish the sentence.
My heart constricts in my chest. For a brief moment, I’m
convinced that I’m hurting worse than she is.
“I was so mad after you left me,” I begin to explain,
walking over to her, but she backs away. I don’t blame her. “I
wasn’t thinking properly, and it was there, on the bed, where
you left it.”
She doesn’t speak or look away from me.
“I am so sorry, I swear it!” I frantically proclaim.
“I . . .” She chokes, furiously wiping at her cheeks. “I . . .
just need a minute, okay?” Her eyes close, and a few more
tears escape from under her fluttering eyelids.
I want to give her a minute like she asked, but I’m selfishly
afraid that she’ll grow more and more hurt as time passes and
decide she doesn’t want to see me.
“I’m not going to leave the room,” I say. She has both her
hands pressed over her mouth, but even so, I hear her let out a
muffled cry. The sound cuts straight through me.
“Please,” she begs through her pain. I knew she’d be hurt
when she found out about me destroying that letter, but what I
didn’t expect was for it to hurt me so much.
“No, I won’t.” I refuse to leave her in here alone to cry over
my mistakes, again. How many times has that happened in this
apartment?
She looks away from me and sits down at the foot of the
bed, her shaky hands clasped on her lap, her eyes half closed,
and her lips quivering as she tries to calm herself down. I
ignore the push of her hand against my chest when I drop to
my knees in front of her and wrap my arms around her body.
After a few exhausted efforts to push me away, she finally
gives in and allows me to comfort her.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” I repeat; I don’t know if I’ve ever
meant those words so sincerely before.
“I loved that letter,” she says, crying into my shoulder. “It
meant so much to me.”
“I know it did. I’m so sorry.” I don’t even try to defend
myself, because I’m a fucking idiot, and I knew how much
that thing meant to her. I gently push her back by her shoulders
and take her tearstained cheeks between my hands and lower
my voice. “I don’t know what to say except I’m sorry.”
Finally she opens her mouth to speak. “I won’t say it’s
okay, because it’s not . . .” Her eyes are red-rimmed and
already swollen from her sobbing.
“I know.” I bow my head, dropping my hands from her
face.
Moments later I feel her fingers press under my chin, tilting
my face up to look at her, the way I usually do to her.
“I’m upset . . . devastated, really,” she says. “But there’s
nothing I can do about it, and I don’t want to sit here and cry
all weekend, and I certainly don’t want you backtracking and
beating yourself up over it.” She’s trying her hardest to talk
herself up, pretending that it doesn’t bother her the way that I
know it does.
I let out a breath that I didn’t realize I was holding. “I’ll
make it up to you, somehow.” When she doesn’t answer, I
press a little. “Okay?”
She wipes at her eyes, her makeup smearing under her
fingertips. Her silence is making me uneasy. I’d rather be
screamed at than have her cry like this.
“Tess, please talk to me. Do you want me to take you back
to Seattle?” Even if she says yes, I sure as hell won’t do it, but
the offer is tossed between us before I can think it through.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m fine.”
With a sigh, she stands, sidestepping my body as she exits
the bedroom. I get to my feet and follow her. She closes the
bathroom door, and I go back into the bedroom to grab her
small bag. I know her—she’ll want to fix that black-smudged
mess underneath her eyes.
I tap on the bathroom door, and she opens it slightly, just
enough for me to shove the small bag through. “Thanks,” she
says, her voice small, defeated.
I’ve already ruined her weekend, and it’s barely started.
“My mom and your dad want you to bring Tessa by the
house tomorrow,” Landon calls from the end of the hall.
“And . . .”
“I’m just saying. My mom misses Tessa.”
“So . . . your mum can see her some other time.” Then I
realize this might get Tessa’s mind off that damned letter. “You
know what? Fine,” I say before he can get his response out.
“I’ll take her by tomorrow.”
My stepbrother tilts his head. “Is she crying?”
“She’s . . . it’s not really any of your business, is it?” I snap.
“You’ve been back here for less than twenty minutes, and
she’s already locked herself in the bathroom,” he says,
crossing his arms.
“This isn’t the time to start shit with me, Landon,” I growl.
“I’m already at the point of explosion; the last thing I need is
you butting your damn nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
But he just rolls his eyes in a very Tessa-like way. “Oh, so
I’m only allowed to butt in when it involves doing a favor for
you?”
What the fuck is his problem, and why do I keep referring to
him as my stepbrother? “Fuck off.”
“She’s probably already overwhelmed, so the two of us
need to stop this before she lets herself out of that bathroom.”
He’s trying to reason with me.
“Fine, then stop talking shit to me,” I say.
Before he can respond, the bathroom door clicks open, and
Tessa, looking put together but very exhausted, shuffles into
the hallway, worry on her face. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Landon is going to order pizza, and we’re all
going to spend the remainder of the night as one big happy
family.” I glance at him. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” he agrees—for Tessa’s sake, I know. I miss the days
when Landon wouldn’t smart off to me. They were few and far
between, but he’s grown ballsier as the months have dragged
on. Or maybe I’ve grown weaker . . . I haven’t a damn clue,
but I don’t like the shift.
Tessa lets out a little sigh. I need her to smile, I need to
know she can get over this. So I say, “I’m going to take you by
my father’s house tomorrow; maybe Karen can share some
recipes or some shit with you?”
Her eyes lighten, and she grins, finally. “Recipes or ‘some
shit’?” She chews on the corner of her bottom lip to keep from
grinning further. The pressure in my chest dissolves.
“Yeah, or some shit.” I smile back at her and lead her to the
living room, where we are set to enjoy a torturous night of
entertaining Richard and Landon.
RICHARD IS LYING across the span of the couch. Landon is
in the chair. And Tessa and I are sitting on the floor.
“Can you pass me another supreme?” Richard asks for the
third time since we started this hideous movie. I look at Tessa
and Landon, who, of course, are completely fascinated by the
email love affair that’s going on between Meg Ryan and Tom
Hanks. If this were a modern movie, they would have fucked
after the first email, not waited until the last scene to even kiss.
Hell, they would have been on one of those hookup apps and
maybe only known each other by screen names. How
depressing is that?
“Here,” I groan, sliding the pizza box to Richard. He’s
already taking up the entire couch, and now he’s interrupting
me every ten minutes for more fucking pizza.
“This last part used to make your mom cry every time she
saw it.” Richard’s hand reaches out and squeezes Tessa’s
shoulder. I try my best not to scoot between them or bat his
hand away. If she had any idea what her father has been doing
the last week, if she had watched the drugs leave his system in
a mess of vomit and convulsing withdrawals, she’d push his
hand away herself and then sanitize her shoulder.
“Really?” Tess looks up at her father with glossy eyes.
“Yes. I still remember you two watching it every time it
was on. More around the holidays, of course.”
“Was that—” I begin but halt my vicious words before I
utter them.
“What?” Tessa asks me.
“Was that . . . um, dog supposed to be there?” I dumbly ask.
It makes no sense, but Tessa, being Tessa, goes into full
discussion mode about the last scene of the movie and that the
dog, Barkley or Brinkley, I believe she said his name is, is
essential to the success of the movie.
Blah, blah, blah . . .
A knock at the door stops Tessa’s explanation and Landon
gets up to answer.
“I got it,” I say and push past him. This is my fucking
place, after all.
I don’t bother to look through the peephole, but once I pull
the door open, I wish that I had.
“Where’s he?” the foul-smelling junkie asks.
I step out into the hallway and close the door behind me.
Tessa will not be bothered by this shit. “What the fuck are you
doing here?” I hiss.
“I’m just here to see my buddy, that’s all.” Chad’s teeth are
even browner than before, and his facial hair is matted to his
skin. He can only be in his thirties, but he possesses the face of
a man pushing fifty. The watch my father got me is hanging
from his filthy wrist.
“He’s not coming out here, and no one is giving you
anything, so I suggest you take your ass back where you came
from before I bash your face against that railing,” I say matter-
of-factly and point toward the metal bar in front of the hallway
fire extinguisher. “Then, while you’re bleeding out, I’ll call the
police and have you arrested for possession and trespassing.” I
know he has drugs on him, the fucking asshole.
His eyes focus in on me, and I take a step toward him. “I
wouldn’t test my patience, not tonight,” I warn.
His mouth opens just as the door to the apartment opens
behind me. Fucking hell.
“What’s going on?” Tessa asks, moving in front of me.
I instinctively jerk her back, and she asks again. “Nothing,
Chad here was just leaving.” I stare at Chad, so help him God,
if he fucking—
Tessa’s eyes narrow in on the shiny object dangling from
his thin wrist. “Is that your watch?”
“What? No—” I begin to lie, but she already knows. She
isn’t stupid enough to think it’s coincidence that this drug-
addict fuck has the same exact expensive-ass watch as I do.
“Hardin . . .” She glares at me. “So what, you’ve been
hanging out with this guy or something?” She crosses her arms
and puts more distance between us.
“No!” I half shout. Why would that be the conclusion she
draws from this little scene?
I’m conflicted between calling her father out and defending
myself or making up yet another lie. “I’m not friends with
him, he’s leaving.” I shoot Chad one more warning.
This time he takes it and backs away down the hall. I
suppose it’s only Landon who isn’t intimidated by me
anymore. Maybe I haven’t lost my edge after all.
“Who’s there?” Richard joins us in the hallway.
“That man . . . Chad,” Tessa answers, inquisition clear in
her tone.
“Oh . . .” Richard pales and looks helplessly at me.
“I need to know what’s going on.” Tessa is getting upset. I
shouldn’t have let her come back here. I saw it on her face the
moment she stepped into this damned place.
“Landon!” Tessa calls for her best friend, and I look at her
father. Landon will tell her everything; he won’t lie to her face
the way I have so many times.
“Your dad owed him money, and I gave him that watch for
payment,” I admit. She gasps and turns to Richard.
“You owed him money for what? Hardin’s father gave him
that watch as a gift!” she shouts.
Okay . . . this isn’t exactly the reaction I was expecting.
She’s more focused on the stupid watch than the whole your-
father-owed-this-creep-money aspect.
“I’m sorry, Tessie. I didn’t have any money, and Hardin—”
Before I realize what she’s doing, she’s halfway to the
elevator. What the fuck!
I panic, running after her, but she slides into the steel cage
just before I reach her. Those doors move with torturous
slowness any other time, yet when she’s escaping from me,
they close instantly.
“Goddammit, Tessa!” I pound my fist once against the
metal. Does this place even have a staircase? When I look
back down the hall, Landon and Richard are both staring
blankly, unmoving. Thanks for the fucking help, assholes.
I move quickly and find the staircase, taking two stairs at a
time to get to the bottom. I reach the lobby and glance around
for Tessa. When I don’t see her, I begin to panic again. Chad
could have friends with him . . . they could approach Tessa or
hurt her . . .
The elevator opens with a ding, and Tessa steps out of it;
the most determined face imaginable covers her features, until
she spots me.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” I shout at her, my
voice filling the lobby.
“He’s giving that damn watch back, Hardin!” she shouts
back. She stalks toward the glass doors, and I wrap my arm
around her waist, yanking her back against my chest.
“Get off of me!” She claws at my arms, but I don’t relent.
“You can’t just chase after him. What’re you thinking?”
She keeps fighting me.
“If you don’t stop moving, I will literally carry your ass
back up to the apartment. Now listen to me,” I say.
“He can’t have that watch, Hardin! Your father gave it to
you, and it meant a lot to him and to you—”
“That watch didn’t mean shit to me,” I say.
“Yes, it did. You’ll never admit it, but it did. I know it.” Her
eyes are watering again. Fuck, this weekend is going to be
hell.
“No, it didn’t . . .”
Did it?
Her hands stop moving, and she settles down slightly. I
gently coax her back toward the elevator, her drug-dealer-
chasing mission aborted, much to her chagrin.
“It’s not fair to you that he took that watch because of some
stupid bar tab my father ran up! How much freaking alcohol
does one consume that they actually owe people money?” Her
temper is flaring, and I’m torn between thinking it’s amusing
and feeling terrible for what I have to tell her.
“It wasn’t alcohol, Tess.” I watch as she tilts her head to the
side, looking anywhere and everywhere but at my eyes.
“Hardin, I know my father and his drinking—don’t make
excuses for him.” Her chest is moving up and down at an
unhealthy pace.
“Tessa, Tessa, you have to calm down.”
“Then tell me what’s going on, Hardin!”
I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry—sorry that I
couldn’t shield her from her fuckup of a father, just like I
couldn’t shield my mother from the devastation of mine. So I
do something rather alien for me. I say something brutally
honest. “It’s not alcohol. It’s drugs.”
Tessa’s reaction seems at first like no reaction at all. But
after a second, she shakes her head and says, “No, he’s not . . .
He’s not doing drugs.”
Quickly she steps into the elevator and punches the button
for our floor. I jump on right after her, but she just stares into
space as the doors close us in.
chapter
one hundred and twenty-two
TESSA
As Hardin and I walk back into the apartment, it feels like the
air has become stale and awkward.
“Are you okay?” Landon asks when Hardin closes the door
behind him.
“Yeah,” I state simply, lying.
I’m confused, hurt, angry, and exhausted. It’s only been a
few hours since we arrived, and already I’m ready to go back
to Seattle. Any thought I had of wanting to live here again
vanished somewhere during the silent walk from the elevator
to the apartment door.
“Tessie . . . I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” my
father says as he follows me into the kitchen. I need a glass of
water; my head is throbbing.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” The sink creaks when I pull
at the faucet, and I wait patiently for the glass to fill.
“I think we should at least talk—”
“Please . . .” I turn to face him. I don’t want to talk. I don’t
want to hear the hideous truth, or some well-intentioned lie. I
only want to go back to when I was cautiously excited about
trying out a relationship with my father that I never had as a
child. I know that Hardin has no reason to lie about my
father’s addictions, but perhaps he’s somehow mistaken.
“Tessie . . .” my father pleads.
“She said she doesn’t want to talk about it,” Hardin insists,
suddenly appearing in the room. He walks farther into the
kitchen and stands between my father and me. I’m thankful for
his intrusion this time, but I’m slightly worried over the quick
movements of his chest as his breaths become more shallow
and labored. I’m grateful when my father sighs in defeat and
leaves me alone with Hardin in the kitchen.
“Thank you.” I sag against the counter and take another
drink of the lukewarm tap water.
A worried line forms along Hardin’s forehead, and he
doesn’t attempt to hide his deep scowl. His fingers press
against his temples, and he leans against the opposite counter.
“I shouldn’t have let you come here; I knew this would
happen.”
“I’m fine.”
“You always say that.”
“Because I always have to be. Otherwise, when the next
disaster occurs, I won’t be prepared.” The adrenaline coursing
through me only minutes ago has disappeared, evaporated
along with the hope that for once, something could go right for
an entire weekend. I don’t regret coming here, because I’ve
missed Landon so much and I wanted to pick up my letter, e-
reader, and bracelet. My heart still aches over the letter; it
doesn’t seem rational for an object to hold such significance to
me, but it does. It was the first time Hardin had ever been so
open with me—no more hiding, no more secrets about his
past, all of his cards were on the table—and I didn’t have to
force the confessions from him. The thought that he put into
writing it and the way his hands shook as he held it out to me
will always remain in my mind. I’m not upset with him, really;
I wish he hadn’t destroyed it, but I know his temper, and I’m
the one who left it here, somehow sensing that he probably
would destroy it. I won’t allow myself to dwell on it anymore,
though it still hurts to think about the shred of paper that was
left; that small piece could never hold all of the emotion
packed into the words he had scribbled across the page.
“I hate that it’s like that for you,” Hardin quietly says.
“Me, too.” I sigh in agreement. The pained look on his face
makes me add, “It’s not your fault.”
“Like hell it isn’t.” Exasperated fingers push through the
wave of his hair. “I’m the one who ripped up that damn letter,
I drove you here, and I thought I could keep your father’s
habits from you. I thought that asshole Chad was gone for
good when I gave him my watch for the money your dad
owed.”
I stare at Hardin, who’s always so wound up, and I want to
hug him. He gave away something of his; regardless of his
claims to have no attachment to the object, he gave it up in an
attempt to dig my father out of the hole he created for himself.
God, I love him.
“I’m very grateful to have you,” I tell him. His shoulders
straighten, and his head quickly lifts to look at me.
“I don’t know why. I create nearly every disaster in your
life.”
“No, I’m equally to blame,” I assure him. I wish he thought
more of himself; if only he could see himself the way that I do.
“The indifference of the universe does a lot, too.”
“You’re lying”—he stares at me with expectant eyes—“but
I’ll take it.”
I stare at the wall in silence, my brain running over a
thousand thoughts per minute.
“I’m still angry that you ran after him like a fucking
madman, though,” Hardin scolds me. I don’t blame him; it
wasn’t smart. But I also somehow knew he’d run after me in
my ridiculous attempt to chase Chad down and take the watch
back from him. What the heck was I thinking?
I was thinking that the watch represented the beginning of a
new relationship between Hardin and his father. Hardin said he
hated that watch, and he refused to wear it, claiming it was
outrageous. He’s unaware of the times I passed the bedroom to
see him staring at it in its box. Once he even had the watch
resting in his open palm, examining it closely, as if it might
burn or heal him. His expression was ambivalent when he
tossed it carelessly back into the oversize black box.
“My adrenaline got the best of me.” I shrug, trying to hide
the gentle tremor shaking through me at the thought of
actually catching up to the hideous man.
I had a bad feeling about him the first time he came to pick
my father up from the apartment, but I was unaware of the
possibility that he’d return. Out of all the suspicions I held
relating to what exactly was happening here, slimy men selling
drugs and being paid in watches was never a thought. This
obviously was what Hardin referred to as “taking care of it
without me having to worry about it.” If I had just kept my
behind in the apartment, I could still be blissfully ignorant of
the entire situation. I could still see my father in a decent light.
“Well, I don’t care much for your adrenaline, then. It
obviously cuts off the oxygen to your damn brain,” Hardin
huffs, glaring at the refrigerator beside me.
“Should we start the next movie?” My father’s voice
sounds from the living room. I shoot a sudden panicked look
toward Hardin, and he opens his mouth to answer for me.
“In a minute,” he replies, his tone harsh.
Hardin looks down at me, his height and irritated
expression overpowering me. “You don’t have to go out there
and fake some bullshit conversation with them if you don’t
want to. I’d dare either of them to say shit to you about it.”
The idea of watching a movie with my father does not
sound the least bit appealing, but I don’t want things to be
awkward, and I don’t want Landon to go just yet.
“I know.” I sigh.
“You’re in denial, and I get that, but you’re going to need to
face the music sooner or later.” His words are harsh, but his
eyes are sympathetic as he gazes down at me. I feel the heat of
his fingers trail down the back of both of my arms.
“I’ll take later—for now,” I plead with him, and he nods,
not approving but accepting my denial. For now.
“Go on and go in there, then. I’ll be in in a minute.” He tilts
his head toward the living room.
“Okay; can you make some popcorn?” I smile up at him,
trying my best to convince him that my heart isn’t hammering
against my rib cage and my palms aren’t sweating.
“You’re pushing it . . .” A playful smile tugs at the corners
of his mouth while he pushes me out of the kitchen. “Go on.”
When I enter the dimly lit living room, my father is sitting
in his usual spot on the couch and Landon is standing, leaning
against the dark brick wall. My father’s hands are on his lap;
he’s picking at the skin on his fingertips, a habit I had as a
child until my mother forced me to give it up. Now I know
where it came from.
My father lifts dark eyes from his lap to peer up at me, and
a chill runs over me. I can’t decipher whether it’s the lighting
or my mind playing tricks on me, but his eyes are nearly black,
and it’s making me nauseous. Is he really taking drugs? If so,
how much and what kind? My knowledge of drugs consists of
having watched a few episodes of Intervention with Hardin. I
cringed and covered my eyes when the addicts would push the
needles into their skin or smoke the frothy liquid off of a
spoon. I could barely stand to watch them destroy themselves
and everyone around them, while Hardin went on about not
feeling an ounce of pity for the “fucking junkies.”
Is my father really one of them?
“I’ll understand if you want me to go . . .” My father’s
voice doesn’t match the look in his haunted eyes. It’s small,
weak, and broken. My chest aches.
“No, it’s okay.” I swallow and sit down on the floor to wait
for Hardin to join us. I hear the quiet popping of the kernels,
and the aroma of popping corn has already filled the
apartment.
“I’ll tell you anything you want to—”
“It’s okay, really,” I assure my father with a smile. Where is
Hardin?
My silent question is answered only moments later when he
strides into the living room, a bag of popcorn in one hand and
my glass of water in the other. He sits down next to me on the
floor without a word and places the bag on my lap.
“It’s a little burned, but still edible,” he quietly remarks. His
eyes move straight to the television screen, and I know he’s
holding back many thoughts. I squeeze his hand to thank him
for keeping them that way. I don’t think I’d be able to handle
anything else tonight.
The popcorn is delicious and buttery. Hardin gripes when I
offer Landon and my father some. I suspect that’s why they
refuse it.
“What bullshit are we watching now?” Hardin asks.
“Sleepless in Seattle,” I answer with a grin.
His eyes roll. “Really? Isn’t that like an older version of
what we just watched!”
I can’t help but be amused. “It’s a lovely movie.”
“Sure.” He looks at me, but his eyes don’t stay on mine as
long as usual. He uses his sweatshirt to wipe the greasy butter
off his fingers. I cringe and make a mental note to soak the
shirt longer than usual tomorrow before I wash it.
“Is something wrong? This movie isn’t that bad,” I whisper
to him. My father is finishing off the remainder of the pizza,
and Landon has taken his seat back on the recliner.
“No.” He still doesn’t look at me. I don’t want to comment
on his odd behavior; everyone’s already on edge from
tonight’s events.
The movie distracts me from myself and my vicious mind
long enough to laugh with Landon and my father. Hardin
stares at the screen, his shoulders stiff again and his mind
miles away. I desperately want to ask him what’s wrong so
that I can fix it, but I know that it’s best to leave him be for
now. Instead, I snuggle against his chest with my knees bent
beneath me and one arm wrapped around his lean torso. He
surprises me by pulling me closer and planting a soft kiss on
my hair.
“I love you,” he whispers. I’m nearly convinced that I’m
hearing voices until I look up into his expectant green eyes.
“I love you,” I reply softly. I take a few moments to stare at
him, just to take in how beautiful he is. He drives me insane,
as I do him, but he loves me, and his calm behavior tonight is
just another indication of that. No matter how forced the
behavior is, he is trying, and in that I find solace, a steady
certainty that even in the middle of the brewing storm, he will
be my anchor. I once feared that he would take me under; now
I don’t even mind if he does.
A heavy knock at the door jolts me from Hardin’s lap. I’ve
somehow migrated there in my near slumber, and he unwraps
his arms from around me and gently places me on the floor so
he can stand up. I study his face, looking for anger, or shock,
but instead he looks . . . worried?
“You’re not moving,” he says to me. I nod in agreement. I
don’t want to face Chad again.
“We should just call the police, otherwise he’ll never stop
coming here.” I groan, wondering how this apartment could
have changed so drastically in the last few weeks. The panic
rises into my chest again, and when I look up to gauge my
father and Landon’s reactions to the intruder, I see that they’re
both asleep. The television is set on the menu screen for the
pay-per-view; we must have all actually drifted off to sleep
without realizing it.
“No,” I hear Hardin say. I rise onto my knees when he
reaches the door. What If Chad isn’t alone? Will he try to hurt
Hardin? I stand up and head toward the couch to wake my
father.
I barely register the heavy click of high heels across the
hard flooring, so when I turn my head and see my mother, in
all her tight-red-dress, curled-hair, and red-lipsticked glory,
I’m shocked. Her beautiful face is set in a deep scowl as her
darkening eyes meet mine.
“What are you—” I begin. I glance at Hardin; and he’s
calm . . . expectant almost . . .
He allows her to storm past him and stalk toward me.
“You called her?” My voice squeaks as the puzzle pieces
click into place. He looks away from me. How could he call
her? He knows firsthand how my mother is; why on earth
would he bring her into this?
“You have been avoiding my calls, Theresa,” she snaps.
“And now I find out that your father is here! At this apartment,
and he’s on drugs!” She storms past me, too, and goes straight
for the kill. Her fire-engine-red manicured fingers grip my
father’s arm, and she yanks his sleeping body off of the couch.
He topples to the floor.
“Get up, Richard!” she booms, and I flinch at the harshness
in her voice.
My father scrambles up to a sitting position quickly, using
his palms to support his body weight, and shakes his head. His
eyes nearly pop out of his skull as he takes in the woman in
front of him. I watch as he blinks rapidly and stumbles to his
feet.
“Carol?” His voice is even smaller than mine.
“How dare you!” She waves a finger in his face, and he
backs away from her only to have his legs hit the couch,
causing him to fall back. He looks terrified, and I don’t blame
him.
Landon stirs in the chair and opens his eyes; his expression
mimics my father’s, confused and terrified.
“Theresa, go to your bedroom,” my mother demands.
What? “No, I will not,” I counter. Why did Hardin have to
call her? Everything would have been okay. I’d have a way to
move on from my father, probably.
“She’s not a child anymore, Carol,” my father says.
My mother’s cheeks puff, and her chest rises, and I know
what’s coming next. “Don’t you dare speak of her as if you
know her at all! As if you have any claim on her!”
“I’m trying to make up for lost time—” My father is
holding his ground pretty decently for a man who has just been
awoken by his angry ex-wife screaming in his face. I don’t
know what to make of the scene unfolding in front of me.
There’s something in my father’s voice, something in his tone
as he steps closer to my mother, gaining confidence that
almost looks familiar. I can’t quite put my finger on it.
“Lost time! You don’t get to make up for lost time! Now I
hear you’re taking drugs?”
“I’m not anymore!” he yells back at her. I want to cower
behind Hardin, but right now I don’t know whose side he’s
actually on. Landon’s eyes are focused on me, Hardin’s on my
father and mother.
“Wanna go?” Landon mouths silently from across the
room. I shake my head, silently declining, but hoping that my
eyes can convey how thankful I am for his offer.
“Anymore? Anymore!” My mother must have worn her
heaviest heels. I’m beginning to wonder if they’ll leave dents
in the floor as she stomps across it.
“Yes, anymore! Look, I’m not perfect, okay?” His hands
move over his short hair, and I freeze. The gesture is so
familiar, it’s uncanny.
“Not perfect! Ha!” She laughs, her white teeth shining
through the dim room. I want to turn a light on but can’t bring
myself to move. I don’t know how to feel or what to think as I
watch my parents scream at each other in the middle of the
living room. I’m convinced this apartment is cursed; it has to
be. “Not perfect is fine; doing drugs and dragging your
daughter down the same path is deplorable!”
“I’m not dragging her down any path! I’m trying my
hardest to make up for what I did to her . . . and to you!”
“No! You’re not! Your coming back around will only
confuse her more! She’s already messed her life up enough!”
“She hasn’t messed up her life,” Hardin interrupts. My
mother shoots him a fiery glare before turning her attention
back to my father.
“This is your fault, Richard Young! All of this! If it weren’t
for you, Theresa wouldn’t be in this toxic relationship with
this boy!” She waves her hand toward Hardin. I knew it would
only be a matter of time before she started in on him. “She
never had a male example to show her how a woman should
be treated; that’s why she’s shacked up here with him!
Unmarried, living in sin, and Lord only knows what he’s
doing! He’s probably taking the drugs with you!”
I recoil, my blood instantly boils, and the raging need to
defend Hardin surfaces. “Don’t you dare bring Hardin into
this! He’s been taking care of my father and providing him
with somewhere to live to keep him off of the streets!” I hate
the way my choice of words resembles my mother’s.
Hardin crosses the room and stands beside me. I know he’s
going to warn me to stay out of it.
“It’s true, Carol. He’s a good man, and he loves her more
than I’ve ever seen a man love a woman,” my father chimes
in. My mother’s fists ball at her sides, and her perfectly
blushed cheeks flare a deep red.
“Don’t you dare defend him! All of this—she waves one
clenched fist through the thick air—“is because of him! She
should be in Seattle, creating a life for herself, finding herself
a suitable man . . .”
I can barely hear anything over the blood rushing and
pumping through my head. In the midst of all of this, I feel
terrible for Landon, who has kindly retreated to the bedroom
to leave us alone, and for Hardin, who is, yet again, being used
as my mother’s scapegoat.
“She is living in Seattle, she’s here visiting her father. I told
you that on the phone.” Hardin’s voice breaks through the
chaos; it’s barely controlled, and it sends a shiver over my
body, raising the small hairs on my arms.
“Don’t think that just because you called me we’re
suddenly friends,” she snaps. Hardin jerks me back by my
arm, and I glare up at him, puzzled. I hadn’t even realized that
I started toward her until he stopped me.
“Judgmental as always. You’ll never change, you’re still
the same woman you were all those years ago.” My father
shakes his head in disapproval. I’m thankful that he’s on
Hardin’s side.
“Judgmental? Are you aware that this boy, the one you’re
defending, weaseled his way between your daughter’s legs to
win money in a bet he made with his friends?” My mother’s
voice is cold—smug, even.
All of the air leaves the room, and I’m choking, gasping for
a simple breath.
“That’s right! He was bragging around campus about his
conquest. So don’t you defend him to me,” she hisses. My
father’s eyes are wide. I can see the stormy currents gathering
behind them as he looks at Hardin.
“What? Is this true?” My father is choking for breath, too.
“It’s not important! We’ve already passed it,” I tell him.
“See, she went and found herself someone exactly like you.
Let us pray that he doesn’t get her pregnant and leave when
times get tough.”
I can’t listen anymore. I can’t let Hardin be dragged
through the mud by both of my parents. This is a disaster.
“And not to mention just three weekends ago, a man
dropped her at my house unconscious because of his”—she
points to Hardin—“friends! They nearly had their way with
her!”
The reminder of that night pains me, but it’s the way my
mother is blaming Hardin that bothers me the most. What
happened that night was in no way his fault, and she knows it.
“You son of a bitch!” my father says through his teeth.
“Don’t,” Hardin calmly warns him. I pray that he listens.
“You had me fooled! Here I was thinking you just had a
bad rep, some tattoos, and an attitude! I could deal with that.
I’m the same way. But you used my daughter!” My father
dashes toward Hardin, and I stand in front of him.
My brain hasn’t had a chance to catch up with my mouth.
“Stop it! Both of you!” I scream. “If you want to go to war
over your past, that’s your choice, but you won’t bring Hardin
into it! He called you for a reason, Mother, and yet here you
are throwing him under the bus out of anger. This is his place,
not either of yours. Both of you can get the hell out!” My eyes
burn, as if they’re begging me to shed the warm tears, but I
refuse.
My mother and father both halt; they look at me, then at
each other. “Sort your crap out or leave; we’ll be in the
bedroom.” I wrap my fingers around Hardin’s, and I try to pull
him behind me.
He hesitates for a moment before using his long legs to step
in front of me and lead me down the hallway, still grasping my
hand. His grip is tight, nearly unbearably so, but I stay quiet.
I’m still in shock from my mother’s arrival and blowup; too
much pressure on my hand is the least of my concerns.
I push the door closed behind me just in time to muffle the
shouting voices of my parents down the hall. Suddenly I’m
nine again, running through the backyard of my mother’s
house to my haven, the small greenhouse. I could always hear
the shouting, no matter how loud Noah attempted to be in
order to mute the unpleasant noise.
“I wish you hadn’t called her.” I break from my memories
and look up at Hardin. Landon is sitting at the desk, making a
point not to stare at us.
“You needed her. You were in denial.” His voice is gravelly.
“She made things worse; she told him about what you did.”
“It made sense at the time to call her. I was trying to help
you.”
The look in his eyes tells me he really thought it might
work. “I know,” I say with a sigh. I wish he’d run the idea past
me first, but I know he was doing what he thought was right.
“Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.” He shakes his head
and plops down on the bed. Looking up at me with real
anguish, he says, “We’ll always be reminded of that shit—you
know that, don’t you?”
He’s shutting down; I can feel it just as surely as I can see it
happening in front of me.
“No, that’s not true.” There’s at least some truth to my
words in that once everyone we know finds out about the bet,
it’ll become old news to them all. I shudder at the thought of
Kimberly and Christian finding out, but everyone else around
us now knows the humiliating truth.
“Yes, it is! You know it is!” Hardin raises his voice and
paces across the floor. “It’s never going to go away, every time
we fucking turn around, someone is throwing it in your face,
reminding you of what a fuckup I am!” His fist collides with
the top of the desk before I can stop him. The wood splinters,
and Landon jumps to his feet.
“Don’t do this! Don’t let her get to you, please!” I grab a
fistful of his black sweatshirt, stopping him from beginning
another assault on the already broken wood. He jerks away,
but I don’t let up. I grab both sleeves this time, and he turns
around, fuming.
“Aren’t you tired of this shit? Aren’t you tired of the
constant fight? If you would just let me go, your life would be
much easier!” Hardin’s words come out clipped and loud, and
each syllable cuts deep. He always does this; he always goes
for self-destruction. I won’t allow it this time.
“Stop that! You know that I don’t want easy and loveless.” I
gather his face between my hands and force him to look at me.
“Both of you, listen to me,” Landon interrupts. Hardin
doesn’t look at him; he keeps his furious gaze on me. My best
friend, Hardin’s stepbrother, walks across the room to stand
only feet away from us.
“You guys can’t do this again. Hardin, you can’t let people
get into your head like that; Tessa’s is the only opinion that
matters. Let hers be the only voice in your head,” he tells us.
It’s as if the black rings around Hardin’s eyes visibly shrink
as he takes in the words. “And Tess . . .” Landon sighs. “You
don’t need to feel guilty and try to convince Hardin that you
want to be with him; you staying around through everything
should be proof enough.”
Landon has a point, but I’m not sure if Hardin will see it
through his anger and pain.
“Tessa needs you to comfort her right now. Her parents are
screaming at each other in there, so be here for her—don’t
make this about you,” Landon tells his stepbrother. Something
in his words seems to click in Hardin’s mind, and he nods,
tilting his head down to press his forehead against mine, his
harsh breathing slowing with each breath.
“I’m sorry . . .” he whispers.
“I’m going to go home now.” Landon looks away from us,
seemingly uncomfortable with witnessing the intimacy
between Hardin and me. “I’ll let my mom know you’ll be by.”
I move away from Hardin to wrap my arms around
Landon’s neck. “Thank you for everything. I’m so glad you
were here,” I say into his chest. His arms tightly hug me, and
this time Hardin doesn’t pull me away. When I step out of the
embrace, Landon leaves the room, and I look back at Hardin.
He’s examining his bloody knuckles, a sight that was
beginning to turn into a distant memory; now I’m seeing it
again as the thick blood drips onto the floor.
“About what Landon said,” Hardin says, wiping his
bloodied hand on the bottom of his sweatshirt. “When he said
yours should be the only voice in my head. I want that.” When
he looks up at me again, his expression is haunted. “I want that
so fucking bad. I can’t seem to shake them . . . Steph, Zed,
now your mum and dad.”
“We’ll figure it out, we will,” I promise him.
“Theresa!” My mother’s voice resounds from outside the
door. I had been too wrapped up in Hardin to notice that the
noise in the living room had dissipated. “Theresa, I’m coming
in.”
The door opens on the last word, and I stand behind Hardin.
This seems to be a pattern.
“We need to talk about this, all of this.” She eyes Hardin
and me with equal intensity. Hardin’s head turns, and he looks
down at me, raising an eyebrow for approval.
“I don’t think there’s much to discuss,” I say from behind
my shield.
“There’s plenty to discuss. I’m sorry for my behavior
tonight. I lost my mind when I saw your father here, after all
these years. Please give me a little time to explain. Please.”
The word “please” sounds foreign coming from my mother’s
lips.
Hardin steps away, exposing me to her. “I’m going to go
clean this up.” He lifts his battered hand in the air and exits the
room before I can stop him.
“Sit down, we have a lot to discuss.” My mother runs her
palms down the front of her dress and pushes her thick blond
waves to one side before she sits down on the edge of the bed.
chapter
one hundred and twenty-three
HARDIN
The cold water blasts from the faucet onto my torn flesh. I
stare down at the sink, watching as the red-stained water swirls
around the metal drain.
Again? This shit happened again? Of course it did; it was
only a matter of time.
I leave the bathroom door open so I can easily access the
room across the hall if I hear any screaming. I have no fucking
idea what I was thinking when I called that bitch. I shouldn’t
call her that . . . but she is one, so . . . bitch it is. At least I’m
not saying it in front of Tessa. When I called her, I could only
think of Tessa’s blank expression and naive remarks, saying
things like “he’s not doing drugs” as she tried to convince
herself of what was obviously not true. I knew she’d come
undone at any moment, and for some stupid fucking reason I
thought her mum being here could possibly be of help.
This is precisely why I don’t try to help people. I have no
experience in it. I’m pretty damn excellent at fucking shit up,
but I’m no savior.
A flash of movement in the mirror catches my eye, and I
look up to see Richard’s reflection staring back at me. He’s
leaning against the narrow doorframe, his expression wary.
“What? Did you come to try and shank me or something?”
I say flatly.
He sighs and runs his hands over his clean-shaven face.
“No, not this time.”
I scoff, half wishing that he would try and come at me. I’m
certainly wound up enough for a brawl, or two.
“Why didn’t either of you tell me?” Richard asks,
obviously referring to the bet.
Is he fucking serious?
“Why would I tell you? And you sure as hell aren’t stupid
enough to believe Tessa would tell her father—her absentee
father—some shit like that.” I turn the faucet off and grab a
towel to apply pressure to my knuckles; they’ve stopped
bleeding, for the most part. I should learn to switch hands,
punch with my right from now on.
“I don’t know . . . I feel blindsided, I thought you two were
just opposites attracting, but now . . .”
“I’m not asking for your approval. Nor do I need it.” I walk
past him and hurry down the hallway. I go and grab the bag of
burned popcorn that still rests on the floor.
“Let hers be the only voice in your head.” Landon’s words
echo through my mind. I wish it were that easy, and maybe it
will be one day . . . I sure as hell hope so.
“I know you don’t; I just want to understand all this shit. As
her dad, I feel obligated to beat your ass.” He shakes his head.
“Right,” I say, wanting to remind him again that he hasn’t
been her father for over nine years.
“Carol was a lot like Tessa when she was young,” he says,
following me into the kitchen.
I recoil, and the bag nearly slips from my fingers. “No, she
wasn’t.”
There is no way in hell that this could be true. Honestly, I
used to think Tessa was just like that prudish, bitchy woman,
but now that I actually know her, I’m sure that it couldn’t be
further from the truth. Her struggle to appear perfect is
certainly the result of having the woman as her mother, but
otherwise Tessa is nothing like her.
“It’s true. She wasn’t quite as nice, but she wasn’t
always . . .” He trails off, grabbing a bottled water from my
fridge.
“A bitch?” I finish his sentence for him. His eyes dart down
the empty hallway as if he’s afraid she’s going to appear and
toss him around again. I’d like to see that happen, actually . . .
“She was always smiling . . . Her smile was something else.
All the men wanted her, but she was mine.” He grins at the
memory. I didn’t sign up for this shit . . . I’m no fucking
counselor. Tessa’s mum is hot as hell, but she’s got a constant
stick up her ass that someone needs to remove, or maybe the
complete opposite . . .
“Okay . . .” I don’t get the point here.
“She had so much ambition and compassion then. It’s really
fucked up, because Tessa’s grandma was just like Carol, if not
worse.” He laughs at the thought, but I cringe. “Her parents
hated, I mean hated me. They never hid it, either. They wanted
her to marry a stockbroker, a lawyer—anyone except me. I
hated them, too; may they rest in peace.” He looks up at the
ceiling. As fucked up as it is to say, I’m grateful that Tessa’s
grandparents aren’t around to judge me.
“Well, obviously you two shouldn’t have been married,
then.” I close the lid on the trash can, where I’ve just dropped
the bag of popcorn, and lean my elbows on the counter. I’m
frustrated with Richard and his stupid fucking habits, which
are upsetting to Tessa. I want to kick his ass out and send him
right back onto the streets, but he’s almost become like a piece
of furniture in this apartment. He’s like an old couch that
smells like shit and always creaks when you sit down on it,
and it’s uncomfortable as shit, but for some reason you can’t
throw it away. That’s Richard.
His face falls, and he says softly, “We weren’t married.”
I tilt my head slightly out of confusion. What? I know Tessa
told me that they were . . .
“Tessa doesn’t know. No one does. We were never married
legally. We had a wedding to please her parents, but we never
filed the paperwork. I didn’t want it.”
“Why?” But maybe a more important question is, why am I
so interested in this shit? Minutes ago I was imagining
slamming Richard’s head through the drywall; now I’m
participating in gossip like a fucking teenage girl. I should be
listening at the door of my bedroom, making sure Tessa’s mum
isn’t filling her head with bullshit to try to take her away from
me.
“Because marriage wasn’t for me”—he scratches his head
—“or so I thought. We did everything as a married couple; she
took my last name. I’m not quite sure how she pulled that off
—I think it was like she thought that by doing it, I’d finally
consent or something, but no one knew the sacrifices she made
for my selfishness.”
I wonder how Tessa would feel about this information . . .
she’s so obsessed with the idea of marriage. Would this
diminish her obsession, or fuel it?
“Over the years, she grew tired of my behavior. We fought
like cats and dogs, and let me tell you, that woman was
relentless, but I took it from her. Once she stopped fighting
me, that’s when I knew it was over. I watched the fire slowly
die out in her over the years.” Looking at his eyes, I can see
he’s removed himself from this room and launched himself
into the past. “Every single night she would be waiting at the
dinner table, her and Tessie both in dresses and hairpins, only
for me to stumble in and complain about the burned edges of
lasagna. Half the time I’d pass out before the fork hit my
mouth, and every night ended with a fight . . . I can’t
remember the half of it.” A visible shudder passes over him.
A vision of a very young Tessa, all dressed up at the table,
waiting excitedly to see her father after a long day, only to
have him crush her, makes me want to reach out and strangle
the man.
“I don’t want to hear another word,” I warn him, meaning
it.
“I’ll stop now.” I can see the embarrassment plastered on
his face. “I just wanted you to know that Carol wasn’t always
like this. I did it to her. I made her the bitter, angry woman she
is today. You don’t want history to repeat itself, do you?”
chapter
one hundred and twenty-four
TESSA
My mother and I sit in silence. My mind is reeling, and my
heart is pounding as I watch her tuck a lock of thick blond hair
behind her ear. She’s calm and collected—not overwhelmed
the way I am.
“Why would you let your father come here? After all this
time. I can understand you wanting to see him more after
running into him on the street, but not allowing him to move
in,” she finally says.
“I didn’t allow him to move in; I don’t live here anymore.
Hardin let him stay out of kindness, kindness that you
misinterpreted and threw in his face.” I don’t hide my disgust
about the way she treated him.
My mother—everyone—will always misunderstand
Hardin, and why I love him. It doesn’t matter, though, because
I don’t need them to.
“He called you because he thought you would be there for
me.” I sigh, mentally deciding which way I want to steer the
conversation before she bulldozes me into acquiescence in her
typical Carol Young fashion.
My mother’s blue eyes are somber, cast to the ground.
“Why do you turn against everyone to defend that boy, after
all he has done to you? He’s put you through so much,
Theresa.”
“He’s worth the defending, Mother. That’s why.”
“But—”
“He is. I won’t keep having this discussion with you. I told
you before, if you can’t accept him, then I can’t have a
relationship with you. Hardin and I are a package deal,
whether you like it or not.”
“I once thought that about your father.” I do my best not to
flinch when she lifts her hand to smooth the front of my hair.
“Hardin is nothing like my father.”
A light laugh sounds from her painted lips. “Yes, oh yes, he
is. He is like him in so many ways.”
“You can leave if you’re going to say those things.”
“Calm down.” She repeats the smoothing action on my hair.
I’m torn between being irritated by the patronizing gesture and
being comforted by the decent memories it brings. “I want to
tell you a story.”
I’ll admit I’m intrigued by her words, though I’m skeptical
of her motives. She never told me stories about my father
while I was growing up, so this ought to be interesting.
“Nothing you say will change my mind about Hardin,” I tell
her.
The corners of her mouth turn up slightly as she declares,
“Your father and I never married.”
“What?” I sit up straight on the bed, crossing my legs
beneath me. What does she mean, they never married? Yes,
they did, I’ve seen the pictures. My mother’s lace gown was
exquisite, despite the fact that her belly was slightly swollen,
and my father’s suit wasn’t tailored properly, it hung off him
like a potato sack. I used to love to look through those albums
and admire the way my mother’s cheeks glowed as my father
looked down at her as if she were the only person in his world.
I remember the awful scene that ensued one day when my
mother found me looking through them; after that, she hid
them away, and I never saw them again.
“It’s true.” She sighs. I can tell that this disclosure is
humiliating for her. Her hands are shaking when she says, “We
had a wedding, but your father never wanted to be married. I
knew that, I knew that if I hadn’t gotten pregnant with you,
he’d have left me much sooner. Your grandparents pushed the
marriage on him. You see, your father and I could never get
along, not even for a day. It was exciting in the beginning,
thrilling even”—the blue of her eyes is lost in the memory
—“but as you will come to see, there’s only so much that one
person can take. As the nights came and went and the years
passed, I prayed to God every night that he would change for
me, for you. I prayed that one night, he’d walk through that
front door with a bouquet of roses in his hand instead of liquor
on his breath.” She leans back and crosses her arms in front of
her chest. Bracelets that she can’t afford hang from her wrists,
a tribute to her excessive need to look stylish.
My mother’s confession has left me silent. She’s never been
one for open discussion, especially when the topic is my
father. The sympathy that I suddenly find myself feeling for
this cold woman brings me to tears.
“Stop that,” she scolds me before continuing: “Every
woman hopes to be the one to reform her man, but that’s all it
is: false hope. I don’t want you going down the same path that
I did. I want more for you.” I feel nauseous. “That is why I
raised you to be able to get out of that small town and make a
life for yourself.”
“I’m not—” I begin to defend myself, but she raises her
hand to silence me.
“We had our good days, too, Theresa. Your father was
funny and charming—she smiles—“and he was trying his best
to be what I needed him to be, but his true self overpowered
that, and he became frustrated with me and with the life we
shared for all those years. He turned to liquor, and it was never
the same. I know you remember.” Her voice is haunted, and I
can hear the vulnerability in her tone and see it shining in her
eyes, but she recovers quickly. My mother has never been fond
of weakness.
I’m once again taken back to the screaming, the breaking of
dishes, even the occasional “these bruises on my arms are
from gardening,” and feel my stomach get tied up in knots.
“Can you honestly look me in the eyes and tell me that you
have a future with this boy?” she asks as the silence ticks on.
I can’t respond. I know the future that I want with Hardin.
Whether he’ll be willing to give it to me is the question.
“I wasn’t always like this, Theresa.” She gently dabs both
index fingers under her eyes. “I used to love life, I was always
excited about the future . . . and look at me now. You may
think I’m a horrible person for wanting to protect you from my
fate, but I’m only doing what’s necessary to keep you from
repeating my history. I don’t want this for you . . .” I struggle
to picture a young Carol, happy and excited about each new
day. I can count the times that I’ve heard the woman laugh in
the last five years on one hand.
“It’s not the same, Mother.” I force myself to say the words.
“Theresa, you cannot deny the similarities.”
“There are some, yes,” I admit, more to myself than to her,
“but I refuse to believe that history is repeating itself. Hardin
has already changed so much.”
“If you have to change him, why even bother?” Her voice is
calm now as she looks around the bedroom that once was
mine.
“I haven’t changed him, he’s changed himself. He’s still the
same man; all the things that I love about him are there, only
he has learned to handle things differently and has become a
better version of himself.”
“I saw his bloody hand,” she points out.
I shrug. “He has a temper.” A massive one, but I won’t go
along with her putting him down. She needs to understand that
I’m on his side, and that from now on, to get to him she has to
go through me.
“So did your father.”
I stand. “Hardin would never purposely hurt me. He isn’t
perfect, Mother, but neither are you. Neither am I.” I’m
amazed at my own confidence as I cross my arms and match
her glare.
“It’s more than his temper . . . Think of what he’s done to
you. He humiliated you; you had to find another campus.”
I don’t have the energy to argue with her statement, mostly
because it holds a lot of truth. I’d always wanted to move to
Seattle, but my bad experience this first year at school gave
me the extra push that I needed.
“He’s covered in tattoos . . . though at least he removed
those hideous piercings.” Her face twists in disgust.
“You’re not perfect either, Mother,” I repeat. “The pearls
around your neck hide your scars, just as Hardin’s tattoos hide
his.”
My mother’s eyes quickly flick over to me, and I can
clearly see the words repeating in her mind. It’s finally
happened; I’ve finally made a breakthrough in dealing with
her.
“I’m sorry for what my father did to you, I really am, but
Hardin isn’t my father.” I sit back down next to her, and dare
to place my hand over hers. Her skin is cold under my palm,
but to my surprise, she doesn’t pull away. “And I’m not you,”
I add as gently as possible.
“You will be if you don’t get as far away from him as you
can.”
I remove my hand from hers and take a deep breath to stay
calm. “You don’t have to approve of my relationship, but you
have to respect it. If you can’t,” I say, struggling to stay
confident, “then you and I will never be able to have a
relationship.”
She slowly shakes her head from side to side. I know she
was expecting me to give in to her, to agree that Hardin and I
could never work. She was wrong.
“You cannot give me that type of ultimatum.”
“Yes, I can. I need as much support as possible, and I am
beyond exhausted with battling against the world.”
“If you feel as if you’re battling alone, perhaps it’s time to
change sides.” She raises an accusatory brow at me. I stand
again.
“I’m not battling alone, stop doing that. Stop it,” I hiss. I’m
trying my best to be patient with her, but my resolve is
wearing as thin, as this night is long.
“I’m never going to like him,” my mother says, and I know
she means every word.
“You don’t have to like him, but you won’t be spreading
our business to anyone else, including my father. That was
incredibly wrong of you to tell him about the bet, and not in
the least justified.”
“Your father had the right to know what he has caused.”
She doesn’t get it! She still doesn’t understand. My head is
going to explode any moment; I can feel the pressure building
in my neck. “Hardin is trying his hardest for me, but until now
he’s never known any better,” I tell her.
She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t even look at me.
“That’s it, then? You’re going to take the second option?” I
ask.
She stares at me, silent, the wheels of her mind turning and
turning behind her heavily shaded eyes. She has no color left
in her cheeks, despite the rosy blush she clearly swept across
her cheekbones before she arrived. At last she mutters, “I’ll try
to respect your relationship. I will try.”
“Thank you,” I say, but really I don’t know what to make of
this . . . truce with my mother. I’m not naive enough to believe
what she’s promised until she proves it, but it still feels pretty
good to have one of the heavy stones lifted from my back.
“What will you do about your father?” We both stand; she
towers over me in her four-inch heels.
“I don’t know.” I’ve been too distracted by the topic of
Hardin to focus on my father.
“You should make him leave; he has no business being here
clouding your mind and filling it with lies.”
“He’s done no such thing,” I fire back. Every time I believe
we’ve made any type of progress, she uses her sharp heel to
kick me back down.
“He has! He has strangers showing up here, shaking him
down for money! Hardin told me all of it.”
Why would he do that? I understand his concern, but my
mother hasn’t helped the situation one bit. “I’m not going to
kick him out. This isn’t my place, and he has nowhere else to
go.”
My mother’s eyes close, and she shakes her head at me for
the tenth time in the last twenty minutes. “You have to stop
trying to fix people, Theresa. You will spend your entire life
doing it, but then you’ll have nothing left of yourself, even if
you succeed in changing them.”
“Tessa?” Hardin’s voice calls from outside the bedroom. He
opens the door before I respond, and his eyes immediately
scan my face for signs of distress.
“You okay?” he asks, ignoring my mother’s presence
completely.
“Yeah.” I gravitate toward him but avoid throwing my arms
around him, for my mother’s sake. The poor woman has
already been dragged through twenty years of memories.
“I was just leaving.” My mother runs her palms down her
dress, stopping at the hem and then repeating the action, a
frown settling on her face.
“Good,” Hardin rudely remarks, quick to protect me.
I look up at him, my eyes pleading with him for silence. He
rolls his eyes but doesn’t say another word as my mother
strides by us and marches down the hall. The obnoxious
clicking of her heels sends me into a full migraine.
I take his hand and follow in silence. My father attempts to
speak to my mother, but she brushes him off.
“You didn’t wear a coat?” he unexpectedly asks her.
Just as puzzled as I am, she mumbles “no” and turns to me.
“I’ll call you tomorrow . . . Answer this time?” It’s a question
instead of a demand, which is some sort of progress.
“Yes.” I nod.
She doesn’t say goodbye. I knew she wouldn’t.
“That woman drives me flippin’ crazy!” my father shouts
when the door closes, his hands flying into the air in
exasperation.
“We’re going to bed. If anyone else knocks at the damn
door, don’t answer it,” Hardin grumbles and leads me back to
the bedroom.
I’m beyond exhausted. I can barely stand on my feet.
“What did she say?” Hardin lifts his sweatshirt over his
head and tosses it at me. I detect a flicker of uncertainty as he
waits for me to collect it from the floor.
Despite the greasy butter and blood smeared on the black
fabric, I gladly remove my own shirt, along with my bra, and
pull it over my head. I breathe in the familiar scent of him,
which aides in calming my nerves. “More than she’s said in
my entire life,” I admit. My mind is still reeling.
“Did any of it change your mind?” He looks at me, panic
and fear filling his eyes. I get the feeling my father must have
had a similar talk with him, and wonder if my father holds the
same grudge against my mother as she holds against him or if
he admits that he’s to blame for the turmoil in both of their
lives.
“No.” I pull my loose pants down my legs and place them
on the chair.
“You’re sure? Aren’t you worried that we’re repeating their
—” Hardin begins.
“No, we are not. We’re nothing like them.” I stop him. I
don’t want anyone else getting into his head, not tonight.
Hardin doesn’t look convinced, but I force myself not to
focus on that right now.
“What do you want me to do about your dad? Kick him
out?” he asks. He moves to sit on the bed with his back against
the headboard while I grab his dirty jeans and socks from the
floor. Hardin’s arms lift to rest behind his head, fully
displaying his toned, inked body.
“No, don’t kick him out. Please.” I crawl into bed, and he
pulls me onto his lap.
“I won’t,” he assures me. “Not tonight, at least.” I look up
for a smile, but there isn’t one.
“I’m so confused,” I groan into his chest.
“I can help with that.” He lifts his pelvis, and l’m forced
forward, using my palms to steady myself against his exposed
chest.
I roll my eyes. “Of course you can. Every problem looks
like a nail when your first tool of choice is a hammer.”
He smiles wickedly. “Are you saying you need to get
nailed?”
Before I can bemoan his bad joke, he takes my chin
between his long, busted fingers, and I find myself shifting my
hips, rubbing against him. I’m vaguely aware of my period; I
know Hardin certainly doesn’t mind it.
“You need sleep, baby; it would be wrong to fuck you right
now,” he says softly.
I shamelessly pout. “No, it wouldn’t,” I say and slide my
palms down his stomach.
“Oh no, you don’t.” He stops me.
I need a distraction, and Hardin is the perfect fix. “You
started it,” I whine. I sound desperate, because I am.
“I know, and I’m sorry for that. I’ll take you in the car
tomorrow.” His fingers slip under the sweatshirt and begin to
draw unknown shapes across my bare back. “And if you’re a
good girl, I’ll even bend you over the desk at my father’s
house, just the way you like,” he says into my ear.
My breathing hitches, and I playfully swat at him, and he
laughs. His laugh is almost as distracting as sex would be.
Almost.
“Besides, we don’t want to make a mess in here tonight, do
we? With your father out there? He’ll probably see the blood
on the sheets and assume I’ve killed you.” He bites the inside
of his cheek.
“Do not start that,” I warn him. His cheesy menstrual jokes
are not welcome right now.
“Ahh, baby, don’t be like that.” He pinches my behind, and
I yelp, sliding further into his lap, “Go with the flow.” He
grins.
“You’ve used that one before.” I smile back.
“Well, excuse me for not being original. I like to recycle my
jokes about once a month.”
I groan and try to roll off him, but he stops me and nuzzles
my neck.
“You’re disgusting,” I say.
“Yeah, I’m just an old bloody rag, I suppose.” He laughs
and presses his lips to mine.
I roll my eyes. “Speaking of bloody rags, let me see your
hand.” I reach behind my back and gently grab him by the
wrist. His middle finger is the worst, a thick gash spreads from
knuckle to knuckle. “You should get this looked at, if it
doesn’t begin to heal tomorrow.”
“I’m fine.”
“This one, too.” I run the pad of my index finger over the
mangled skin on his ring finger.
“Stop fussing, woman, go to sleep,” he grumbles.
I nod in agreement and drift off to the sound of him
complaining about my father eating his Frosted Flakes again.
chapter
one hundred and twenty-five
TESSA
I lay in bed for over two hours, waiting patiently for Hardin to
wake up, before I gave up. By the time I’ve showered and am
fully dressed, the kitchen is cleaned, and I’ve taken two
ibuprofen to get rid of my cramps and massive headache. I
make my way back to the bedroom to wake him up myself.
I gently shake his arm and whisper his name. It doesn’t
work.
“Hardin, wake up.” I roughly grip his shoulder and recoil
when the vision of my mother ripping my father’s slumbering
body off of the couch flashes into my mind. All morning I’ve
been avoiding thoughts of my mother and the heartbreaking
history lesson I was given last night. My father is still asleep; I
imagine that her short visit has worn him out as well.
“No,” he grumbles sleepily.
“If you won’t get up, then I’ll be going to your father’s
house alone,” I say, slipping my feet into my flat shoes. I have
many pairs of Toms, but I always find myself wearing the tan
crocheted ones the most. Hardin calls them “hideous
moccasins,” but I love the comfortable shoes.
He groans and rolls over onto his stomach, pushing himself
up onto his elbows. His eyes are still closed when he turns his
head to me. “No, you won’t.”
I knew he wouldn’t like that idea, which is precisely why I
used it to get his behind out of the bed.
“Get up, then. I’ve already showered and everything,” I
whine. I’m anxious to get to Landon’s house and see him,
Ken, and Karen again. It feels like ages since I last saw that
sweet woman in the strawberry-print apron that she hardly
ever removes.
“Dammit.” Hardin pouts, opening one eye. I stifle a giggle
at the lazy expression covering his face. I’m tired, too,
mentally and physically drained, but the idea of getting out of
this apartment for the day has perked me up tremendously.
“Come here first.” He opens the other eye and reaches out
for me. The moment I’m beside him on the bed, he rolls his
heavy body on top of mine, encasing me in his warmth. He
purposely rubs his hardness against me, grinding his hips until
he’s perfectly nestled between my thighs, his morning erection
pressing torturously into me.
“Morning.” He’s wide-awake now, and I can’t help but
laugh. He leisurely drags his hips in a circle again, and this
time I try to wiggle free. He joins me in laughter but quickly
silences me by covering my mouth with his. His tongue laps
mine, gently caressing, hinting at an intention completely
opposed to the sharp movements his hips are making.
“Are you plugged?” he whispers, still kissing me. His
hands have moved to my chest, and my heart is thumping
rapidly, making his sleepy voice barely audible.
“I am.” I nod, only mildly cringing at the hideous term I
have become used to. He pulls away, his eyes slowly raking
over my face, and his tongue swiping along his bottom lip,
wetting it.
The sound of kitchen cabinets opening and closing carries
down the hallway, followed by a large belch, and then the
crash of pans on the floor.
Hardin’s eyes roll. “Fucking lovely.” He stares down at me.
“Well, I had planned on fucking you before we left, but now
that Mr. Sunshine’s awake . . .”
He climbs off of me and stands up, taking the blanket with
him. “I’ll be quick in the shower,” he says with a scowl toward
the door.
Hardin returns less than five minutes later just as I’m
tucking in the corners of the bedsheet. The only article of
clothing he’s wearing is a white towel wrapped around his
waist. I force my eyes away from his gorgeous inked body and
up to his face while he walks over to the dresser and pulls out
a signature black T-shirt. Pulling it down over his head, he
steps into a pair of boxers.
“Last night was a fucking disaster.” His eyes are focused on
his busted hand as he buttons his jeans.
“Yeah.” I sigh, trying to avoid any further conversation that
revolves around my parents.
“Let’s go.” He grabs his keys and phone from the dresser
and shoves them into his pockets. He pushes his wet hair back
off his forehead and opens the bedroom door. “Well . . . ?” he
impatiently remarks when I don’t jump up right away. What
happened to the playful Hardin from only minutes ago? If his
bad mood continues this way, then I suspect that today will be
just as bad as yesterday.
Without a word, I follow him through the door and down
the hallway. The bathroom door is closed, and the water is on.
I don’t want to wait for my father to get out of the shower, but
I also don’t want to leave without telling him where we’re
going and making sure he doesn’t need anything. What does
he do in this apartment while he’s alone? Does he think about
drugs all day? Does he have people over?
I shake the second thought from my head. Hardin would
find out if he brought bad friends around, and my father sure
as heck wouldn’t still be here if that were the case.
HARDIN STAYS QUIET during the drive to Ken and Karen’s
place. The only assurance I have that today isn’t going to be a
total wash is his hand resting on my thigh while he focuses on
the road.
When we arrive, Hardin, as always, doesn’t knock before
walking inside. The sweet smell of maple syrup fills the house,
and we follow the scent to the kitchen. Karen is standing next
to the oven, a spatula is one hand while she waves the other
through the air in conversation. An unfamiliar young woman
is seated at one of the island stools. Her long brown hair is the
only thing I see until she turns the stool around when Karen’s
attention is directed toward us.
“Tessa, Hardin!” Karen nearly shrieks with joy as she
carefully places the spatula onto the counter and rushes over to
wrap her arms around me. “It’s been so long!” she exclaims,
holding me at arm’s length and then crushing me back to her
body. Her warm welcome is exactly what I needed after last
night.
“It’s only been three weeks, Karen,” Hardin rudely
remarks.
Her smile dims a fraction, and she tucks her hair behind her
ear.
I peer around her to take in all the baked goods around the
kitchen. “What are you making?” I ask to distract her from her
stepson’s sour attitude.
“Maple cookies, maple cupcakes, maple squares, and maple
muffins.” Karen pulls me along gently while Hardin cowers in
the corner, a deep frown set on his face.
Ignoring him, I look at the young woman again, unsure how
to introduce myself.
“Oh!” Karen takes notice. “I’m sorry, I should have
introduced you first thing.” She gestures to the woman. “This
is Sophia; her parents live just down the road.”
Sophia smiles and reaches to shake my hand. “Nice to meet
you,” she says with a smile. She’s beautiful, extremely
beautiful. Her eyes are bright and her smile warm; she’s older
than me, but she can’t be much more than twenty-five.
“I’m Tessa, Landon’s friend,” I say.
Hardin coughs behind me, obviously displeased at my
choice of words. I assume Sophia knows Landon, and since
Hardin and I are . . . well, this morning it just seems easier to
introduce myself this way.
“I haven’t gotten to meet Landon yet,” Sophia says. Her
voice is soft and sweet, and I immediately like her.
“Oh?” I assumed she knew him, since her family lives
down the road.
“Sophia has just graduated from the Culinary Institute of
America in New York,” Karen brags for her, and Sophia
smiles. I don’t blame her; if I’d just graduated from the best
culinary school in the country, I’d let people brag for me, too. I
mean, if I wasn’t already doing it myself.
“I’m visiting my family, and I ran into Karen down the
road . . . buying some syrup.” She grins, eyeing the massive
amount of maple-flavored goodies on display.
“Oh, and this is Hardin,” I say to include my brooding man
in the background.
She smiles at him. “Nice to meet you.”
He doesn’t even look at the poor woman and just says,
“Yeah.”
I in turn offer her a shrug and a sympathetic smile, then
turn to Karen. “Where’s Landon?”
Her eyes flicker to Hardin, then to me, before she answers,
“He’s upstairs . . . He hasn’t been feeling well,” she says. My
stomach turns; there’s something going on with my best
friend, I know it.
“I’m going upstairs.” Hardin turns to leave.
“Wait, I’ll go,” I offer. If something is going on with
Landon, the last thing he needs is Hardin taunting him.
“No.” Hardin shakes his head. “I’ll go. Have some syrup
cakes or whatever,” he grumbles and takes two stairs at a time,
giving me no chance to argue.
Karen and Sophia watch him go. “Hardin is Ken’s son,”
Karen says. Despite his poor attitude today, she still smiles
proudly at the mention of his name.
Sophia nods in understanding. “He’s lovely,” she lies, and
the three of us burst into laughter.
chapter
one hundred and twenty-six
HARDIN
Fortunately for both of us, Landon’s not rubbing one out
when I push his bedroom door open. Predictably, he’s seated
in the recliner against the wall with a textbook on his lap.
“What are you doing in here?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
“You knew we were coming.” I take the liberty of sitting on
the edge of his bed.
“I meant in my room,” he clarifies.
I choose not to answer that; actually, I don’t know why I’m
in his room. I sure as hell didn’t want to stay downstairs with
three women obsessing over one another.
“You look like shit,” I tell him.
“Thanks.” He looks back down at the textbook.
“What’s wrong with you? Why are you up here moping
around?” I look around his normally tidy room to find it sort
of messy—clean by my standards, but not by his and Tessa’s.
“I’m not moping.”
“If something’s wrong, tell me. I’m really good at, like,
caring,” I say, hoping humor might help somehow.
He slams the book shut and stares at me. “Why would I tell
you anything? So you can laugh at me?”
“No. I wouldn’t,” I say. I probably would. I had actually
been planning on him telling me some stupid shit about getting
a bad grade so I could take my frustrations out on him, but
now that he’s here, in front of me, looking all pitiful, making
him miserable doesn’t appeal to me as much as it did before.
“Just tell me, maybe I can help,” I offer. I have no fucking
idea why I just said that. We both know I’m shit at helping
anyone. Look at what a fucking disaster last night turned out
to be. Richard’s words have been eating away at me all
morning.
“Help me?” Landon gapes, obviously wary of my offer.
“Oh, come on, don’t make me beat it out of you.” I lie back
on his bed and examine the blades of the ceiling fan, willing it
to be summer already so I could enjoy the sensation of it
cooling me down.
I hear his light chuckle and the sound of the book being
placed on the desk beside him. “Dakota and I have ended
things,” he admits meekly.
I sit up quickly. “What?” That was the last thing I imagined
would come from his mouth.
“Yeah, we’ve been trying to make it work . . .” He frowns,
his eyes glossing over.
If he fucking cries, I’m out of here.
“Oh . . .” I say and look away.
“I think she’s been wanting to end it for a while.”
I glance at him again, not wanting to put too much focus on
his sad features. He really is like a puppy, especially right now.
I don’t like puppies, though, except this one, maybe . . . My
sudden animosity toward the curly-haired girl is strong.
“Why do you think that?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. She didn’t come right out and say
that she wanted to end it . . . It’s just . . . she’s been so busy
lately, and she never returns my calls. It’s like the closer it got
to me coming to New York, the more distant she became.”
“She’s probably fucking someone else,” I blurt out, and he
flinches.
“No! She isn’t like that,” he says, defending her.
I probably shouldn’t have said that. “Sorry.” I shrug.
“She’s not that type of girl at all,” he tells me.
Neither was Tessa, but I had her shaking and moaning my
name while she was still seeing Noah . . . though I keep that
fact to myself for everyone’s sake.
“Okay,” I say agreeably.
“I’ve been dating her so long that I can’t even remember
what life was like before her.” His voice is quiet and so full of
sadness that it makes my chest tight. It’s an odd feeling.
“I know what you mean,” I say. Life before Tessa was
nothing, only sloshed memories and darkness, and that’s
exactly what it would be like after her, too.
“Yeah, but at least you won’t have to find out what it would
be like after.”
“What makes you so sure?” I ask, noting that I’m taking
away from his breakup announcement, but I must know the
answer.
“I can’t imagine anything would tear you two apart . . .
nothing has so far.” Landon says it like it’s the most obvious
answer in the world. Maybe it is to him; I wish it were that
obvious to me.
“So what now? Are you still going to New York? You’re
supposed to be leaving in what . . . two weeks?”
“Yeah, and I don’t know. I’ve worked so hard to get into
NYU, and I’ve already enrolled in my summer classes and
everything. It just seems like a waste not to go, but it seems
pointless to go at the same time.” His fingers rub circles over
his temples. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You shouldn’t go,” I say. “It would be really awkward.”
“It’s a big city: we’ll never run into each other. And
besides, we’ll still be friends.”
“Sure, the whole ‘friends’ thing.” I can’t help but roll my
eyes. “Why didn’t you tell Tessa what was going on?” I ask
him. She’s going to be heartbroken for him.
“Tess has—” he begins.
“Tess-a,” I correct him.
“—has enough on her plate. I don’t want her worrying for
me.”
“You want me to keep this from her, don’t you?” I point
out. I can tell by his guilty expression that he does.
“Only for now, until she catches a break. She’s too stressed
lately, and I’m afraid one of these days something will tip her
over the edge.” His concern for my girl is strong, and slightly
irritating, but I decide against my better judgment and keep my
mouth closed.
I groan. “She’ll kill me for this, you know that.” But I don’t
want to tell her either. He’s right: she has enough going on,
and I’m to blame for ninety percent of it.
“There’s more . . .” he begins.
Of course there is.
“It’s my mom, she—” But a light knock at the door silences
him.
“Landon? Hardin?” Tessa’s voice sounds through the wood.
“Come in,” Landon calls, all the while looking at me with
pleading eyes to reaffirm my promise of keeping his breakup
from Tessa.
“I know,” I assure him as the door opens and Tessa steps
inside carrying a plate and the thick smell of syrup with her.
“Karen wanted you two to try these.” She rests the plate on
the desk and looks at me, then quickly turns to Landon with a
smile. “Try the maple squares first. Sophia taught us how to
properly ice them . . . See the little flowers.” Her small finger
points to the clots of icing piled onto the brown crust. “She
taught us how to make those; she’s so lovely.”
“Who?” Landon asks, his brow raised.
“Sophia; she just left to go back to her parents’ house down
the road. Your mother really went crazy getting tons of baking
secrets from her.” Tessa smiles and brings a square to her
mouth. I knew she’d like that girl. I could tell instantly that the
three of them would squeal over one another in the kitchen—
it’s why I had to bolt.
“Oh.” Landon shrugs and reaches for a square. Tessa
apprehensively holds the plate out to me and I shake my head,
declining. Her shoulders slump but she doesn’t say anything.
“I’ll have a square,” I mumble, wanting her frown to go
away. I’ve been an asshole all morning. She perks up and
hands me one. The so-called flowers on the top look like globs
of yellow snot. “You must have iced this one,” I tease her,
pulling her by the wrist to sit on my lap.
“That was a practice one!” She defends herself with her
defiant lift of the chin. I can tell she’s confused by my sudden
shift in mood. Actually, so am I.
“Sure, baby.” I grin and she flicks a piece of the yellow
icing onto my shirt.
She pouts. “I’m no chef, okay?”
I look at Landon, who has his mouth full of cupcake while
he stares at the ground. I dip my finger onto my shirt to
remove the icing, and before Tessa can stop me, I wipe my
finger across her nose, smearing the hideous yellow across it.
“Hardin!” She tries to wipe it off, but I gather her hands in
mine, the pastries falling to the floor.
“Oh, come on, guys!” Landon shakes his head at us. “My
room’s already a mess!”
Ignoring him, I resume licking the icing from Tessa’s
scrunched-up nose.
“I’ll help you clean up!” She laughs as my tongue runs
along her cheek.
“You know, I miss the days when you wouldn’t even hold
her hand in front of me,” Landon complains. He bends down
to collect the broken squares and smashed cupcakes from his
floor.
I sure as hell don’t miss those days, and I hope Tessa
doesn’t either.
“DID YOU LIKE the maple squares, Hardin?” Karen asks
while pulling a ham from the oven and sliding it onto a cutting
board.
“They were okay.” I shrug my shoulders and take a seat at
the table. When Tessa shoots me a glare from the seat next to
me, and I backtrack. “They were good,” I say, earning a smile
from my girl. I’ve finally begun to realize that the tiniest
things make her smile. It’s weird as hell, but it works, so I’m
going with it.
My father turns to me. “How is your graduation packet
coming along?” He lifts his glass of water and takes a sip,
looking much better than he did when I saw him in his office
last week.
“Good, it’s completed. I’m not going to walk, remember?” I
know he remembers; he’s just hoping that I’ve changed my
mind.
“What do you mean, you’re not going to walk?” Tessa
interrupts, which causes Karen to look up and stop carving the
ham.
Fucking hell. “I’m not walking in that graduation, I’m
having my diploma mailed,” I reply sternly. This isn’t going to
turn into a trample-Hardin-and-change-his-mind thing.
“Why not?” Tessa asks, which makes my father look
pleased. That asshole planned this, I know he did.
“I don’t want to.” I look at Landon for backup, but he’s
avoiding my gaze. So much for our bonding shit earlier; it’s
clear that he’s back on Team Tessa. “Don’t push it right now,
I’m not walking, and I won’t be changing my mind,” I say to
her, loud enough that everyone will hear me so there won’t be
any mistaking the finality of my decision.
“We’ll talk about it later,” she threatens with flushed
cheeks.
Sure, Tess, sure.
Karen comes over with the ham on a serving platter,
looking pretty proud of her creation. I suppose she should;
admittedly it smells pretty good. I wonder if she found a way
to use maple syrup on it, too.
“Your mum said you’ve decided to go to England,” my
father says. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable speaking on the
topic in front of Karen. I suppose they’ve been together long
enough that him talking about my mum isn’t awkward.
“Yes.” I give him a one-word answer and take a bite of ham
to signal that I’m done with the table chat.
“You’re going, too, right, Tessa?” he asks her.
“Yes, I have to finalize my passport, but I’m going.”
The smile on her face knocks my irritation down a notch.
“It will be an amazing experience for you; I know you told
me how much you love England. I hate to ruin it for you,
though, but modern London isn’t quite like the London in your
novels.” He grins at her, and she laughs.
“Thank you for the warning, I’m aware that Dickens’s
London fog was actually smog.”
Tessa fits in so well with my father and his new family,
much better than I do. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be
speaking to any of them.
“Have Hardin take you down to Chawton, it’s less than two
hours from Hampstead, where Trish lives,” my father
suggests.
I had planned on taking her there anyway, thanks.
“That would be lovely.” Tessa turns to me; her hand moves
under the table, and she squeezes my thigh. I know she wants
me to be a good sport throughout this dinner, but my father is
making it difficult. “I’ve heard a lot about Hampstead,” she
adds.
“It’s changed a lot over the years. It’s not the small, quiet
village it was when I lived there. Real estate prices have
skyrocketed,” he tells her. Like she gives a fuck about the real
estate in my hometown.
“There are plenty of places to see—how long will you be
staying?” he asks.
“Three days.” Tessa answers for both of us. I don’t plan on
taking her anywhere except Chawton. I thoroughly plan to
keep her locked away so her weekend won’t be ruined by any
of my ghosts.
“I was thinking . . .” My father presses a cloth napkin to his
mouth. “I called around to a few places this morning and I
found a really nice facility for your father.”
Tessa’s fork drops from her hand and clatters onto her plate.
Landon, Karen, and my father are all staring at her, waiting for
her to speak.
“What?” I break the silence so she doesn’t have to.
“I found a really nice treatment facility; they offer a three-
month program for recovering . . .”
Tessa whimpers next to me. It’s such a low sound that no
one else hears it, but it resonates throughout my entire body.
How dare he bring this shit up to her in front of an audience at
the dinner table!
“. . . the best in Washington, though we could look
elsewhere, too, if you’d like.” His voice is soft, and I don’t
hear a hint of judgment in it, but her cheeks are flushed in
embarrassment, and I want to rip my father’s fucking head
clear off.
“This isn’t the time to bring this shit up to her,” I warn him.
Tessa jerks slightly at my harsh tone. “It’s okay, Hardin.”
Her eyes plead with mine. “I’m just a little caught off guard,”
she politely says.
“No, Tessa, it’s not okay.” I turn to Ken. “How did you
even know that her father is a junkie anyway?”
Tessa flinches again; I could break all the plates in this
house for his bringing this up.
“Landon and I talked about it last night, and we both
thought that discussing a rehabilitation plan with Tessa would
be a good idea. It’s very hard for addicts to get clean on their
own,” he says.
“You would know, wouldn’t you?” The words are out
before I can think them through.
My words didn’t have the intended effect on my father,
who just brushes the statement off with a smooth pause. When
I look over to his wife, sadness is clear in her eyes. “Yes, as a
recovering alcoholic, I would know,” he replies.
“How much does it cost?” I ask him. I make enough money
to fully support myself, and Tessa, but rehab? That shit’s
expensive.
“I would cover it,” my father calmly answers.
“Hell, no.” I try to stand from the table, but Tessa’s grip on
my arm is strong. I sit back down. “You aren’t paying for it.”
“Hardin, I’m more than willing to.”
“Maybe the two of you should talk about this in the other
room,” Landon suggests.
What he’s really saying is, Don’t talk about it in front of
Tessa. Her grip on my arm lets up, and my father gets to his
feet at the same time that I do. Tessa doesn’t look up from her
plate as we go into the living room.
“I’m sorry,” I hear Landon say just before I pin my father
against the wall. I’m getting mad, enraged—I can feel the
anger taking over.
My father pushes me off with more force than I’d expect.
“Why couldn’t you bring this up to me before throwing it in
her face at the fucking dinner table—in front of everyone!” I
shout at him, squeezing my fists tight to my sides.
“I think Tessa should have some say in it, and I knew you’d
refuse my offer to pay.” His voice is calm, unlike mine. I’m
pissed the hell off and my blood is boiling. I’m reminded of
the many times I stormed out of family dinners at the Scott
residence. It might as well be a damn tradition.
“You’re damn right, I refuse. You don’t need to be throwing
your fucking money around to us—we don’t need it.”
“That’s not my intention here. I just want to help you in any
way that I can.”
“How is sending her fuckup of a father to rehab going to
help me?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
He sighs. “Because if he’s well, then she’s well. And she’s
the only way to help you. I know that, and so do you.”
I let out a deep breath, not even arguing back, because he’s
right this time. I just need a few minutes to calm down, to
bring myself back to reason.
chapter
one hundred and twenty-seven
TESSA
I’m relieved when neither Hardin nor Ken come back into the
dining room with a bloody nose or black eye.
As Ken sits back down and places his napkin on his lap, he
says, “I apologize again for bringing that up at the table. I was
completely out of line.”
“It’s okay, really. I really appreciate your offer.” I force a
smile. I do appreciate it, but it’s too much to accept.
“We’ll talk about it later,” Hardin hums into my ear.
I nod and Karen stands up to clear the table. I’ve barely
touched my food. The mention of my father’s . . . problem . . .
stole away my appetite.
Hardin pulls my chair closer to his. “Eat some dessert, at
least.”
But I’m cramping again; the ibuprofen has worn off, and
my headache and cramps have returned with a vengeance. “I’ll
try,” I agree.
Karen brings a tray stacked with mounds of her maple-
flavored treats to the table, and I reach for a cupcake. Hardin
grabs for a square, eyeing the perfectly iced flowers on top.
“I did that one,” I lie.
He smiles at me, shaking his head.
“I wish we didn’t have to leave,” I say when he glances at
the clock. I try not to think about the watch he gave away to
pay my father’s debt to the drug dealer. Is rehab really the best
thing for my father? Would he even accept the offer?
“You’re the one who packed up and moved to Seattle,” he
grumbles.
“I meant here, tonight,” I clarify, hoping he’ll catch on.
“Oh no . . . I’m not staying here.”
“I want to,” I say with a pout.
“Tessa, we’re going home . . . to my apartment, where your
dad is.”
I frown; that’s exactly why I don’t want to go there. I need
some time to think and breathe, and this house seems to be
perfect for that, even with Ken’s mention of rehab at the
dinner table. It’s always been a sort of sanctuary. I love this
house, and being in that apartment has been torture since I
arrived yesterday.
“Okay.” I pick at the corner of my cupcake.
Finally Hardin sighs in defeat. “Fine, we’ll stay.”
I knew I’d get my way.
The remainder of our time at the table isn’t as awkward as
what came before. Landon is quiet, too quiet, and I fully
intend to ask him what’s wrong after I finish helping Karen
clean up the kitchen.
“I’ve missed having you around here.” Karen closes the
dishwasher and turns to me, wiping her hands on a towel.
“I’ve missed being here so much.” I lean back against the
counter.
“I’m glad to hear it. You’ve become like a daughter to me; I
want you to know that.” Karen’s bottom lip quivers, and her
eyes shine under the bright lights of the kitchen.
“Are you all right?” I ask her, moving to stand next to the
woman whom I’ve come to care for so much.
“Yes.” She smiles. “I’m sorry, I’ve been so emotional
lately.” She shakes it off, and just like that, she’s back to
normal, presenting a reassuring smile.
“Are you ready for bed?” Hardin joins us in the kitchen,
grabbing another maple square on his way over to me. I knew
he liked them more than he let on.
“Go on, I’m just a mess.” Karen hugs me and places a
loving kiss on my cheek before Hardin wraps his arm around
me, practically forcing me out of the kitchen.
I sigh as we make our way to the staircase. Something
doesn’t feel right. “I’m worried about her, and Landon,” I say.
“They’re fine, I’m sure,” Hardin says as he leads me
upstairs and to the door of his room. Landon’s bedroom door
is closed, and there’s no light leaking out from beneath it.
“He’s sleeping.”
Stepping into Hardin’s bedroom, I immediately feel like it
welcomes me, from the bay window to the new desk and chair,
replacements for the ones Hardin destroyed the last time he
was here. I’ve been at the house since then, but I didn’t pay
much attention. Now that I’m here again, I want to take in
every detail.
“What?” Hardin’s voice startles me from my own thoughts.
I look around the room, remembering the first time I stayed
here with him. “I’m just reminiscing, that’s all,” I say, stepping
out of my shoes.
He grins. “Reminiscing, huh?” In an instant, his black shirt
is pulled up and over his head and tossed to me, dragging me
deeper into my memories. “Care to share?” His jeans are next;
he pushes them down his legs quickly, tossing them to the
floor in a messy heap.
“Well . . .” I admire his inked torso in a leisurely fashion as
he lifts his arms straight up, stretching his long body. “I was
thinking about the first time I stayed here with you.” It also
happened to be the first time Hardin ever slept here.
“What about it?”
“Nothing specific.” I shrug, undressing myself in front of
his watchful gaze. I fold my jeans and shirt before tugging his
black T-shirt over my head.
“Bra off.” Hardin raises a brow at me; his tone is stern, and
his eyes are a deep green.
I remove my bra and climb into the bed to lie next to him.
“Now, tell me what you were thinking about.” He pulls me
by the waist and rests his hand on my hip when I’m securely
lying on my side, as close as possible to his body. His
fingertips trace over the waistband of my lace panties, sending
a chill down my spine that spreads through my entire body.
“I was just thinking about when Landon called me that
night.” I look up at him to gauge his expression. “You were
making a giant mess of the place.” I frown at the clear memory
of broken china cabinets and porcelain dishes smashed into
hundreds of pieces and scattered across the floor.
“Yeah, I was,” he softly replies. The hand that isn’t being
used to trace circles onto my bare skin reaches up and gathers
a lock of my hair. He twirls the strands slowly, never breaking
eye contact with me.
“I was frightened,” I admit. “Not of you, but of what you
would say.”
He frowns. “I confirmed your fear then, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, I guess you did,” I reply. “But you made up for your
harsh words.”
He chuckles, finally taking his eyes from mine. “Yeah, only
to say more fucked-up shit the next day.”
I know where he’s going with this. I try to sit up, but his
palm flattens on my hip and presses me down.
He speaks before I can. “I loved you even then.”
“You did?”
He nods once, tightening his grip on my hip. “Yeah, I did.”
“How did you know?” I quietly ask. Hardin has mentioned
that this was the night he knew that he loved me, but he never
elaborated. I’m hoping that he will now.
“I just did. And by the way, I know what you’re doing.” He
smiles a bright smile.
“And what is that?” I place my palm on his stomach,
covering the center of the moth that’s drawn there.
“You’re being nosy.” He wraps the section of my hair he’s
been playing with around his fist and tugs playfully.
“I thought I was the hair-puller here.” I giggle at my corny
statement, and then he does, too.
“You are.” He removes his hand from my hair, only for a
moment, so he can gather the entire mass of messy blond
waves. He tugs, pulling my head back so I’m forced to look at
him.
“It’s been too long.” He dips his head down, gently leading
me to sit up straight, and runs his nose along my exposed jaw
and neckline. “I’ve been hard since your little tease this
morning,” he whispers, pressing the evidence between my
thighs. The heat of his breath on my skin is almost unbearable
—I’m wriggling under his dirty words and intense stare.
“You’re going to take care of that, yeah?” he says more
than asks.
He pulls his fistful of my hair down and back up again,
gently forcing me to nod my head. I want to correct him and
tell him that he, in fact, is the one who went about teasing me
this morning, but I stay quiet. I like where this is going.
Without a word, Hardin releases my hair and my hip and pulls
himself up to his knees. His hands are cold as they push up the
fabric of the T-shirt, exposing my bare stomach and chest. His
fingers greedily reach for my breasts, and his tongue pushes
into my mouth. I’m instantly ignited; all the stress from the
last twenty-four hours is banished and Hardin fills all of my
senses.
“Sit up, against the headboard,” he instructs after removing
the shirt completely. I do as he says, lowering my body until
my shoulders rest halfway up the enormous slate-colored
headboard. Hardin’s boxers are tugged down, and he lifts one
knee at a time to remove them from his body.
“A little lower, baby.” I reposition myself, and he nods in
approval. Then he scoots across the bed, on his knees, and
positions himself in front of me. My tongue slides out of my
mouth, eager to be on his skin. My jaw relaxes, and Hardin
wraps his fist around his erection, and I watch in awe as he
brings it to my lips, pumping slowly. I open my mouth further,
and Hardin’s thumb glides over my bottom lip, dipping into
my mouth only fractionally before his finger is . . . um,
replaced. He pushes into my mouth slowly, savoring the
sensation of every inch of him sliding over my tongue.
“Fuck,” he groans from above me. I look up to see his eyes
burning into me; one hand is grasping the top of the headboard
to steady himself as he withdraws and pushes back in.
“More,” he pants, and I wrap my hands around his rear,
pulling him closer. My mouth coats him, and I take slow drags
of him, enjoying this just as much as he does. He feels like silk
across my tongue, and his rapid breathing and low calls of my
name, telling me how good I am for him, how much he loves
my mouth, make my entire body burn with need for him.
He keeps moving, in and out, in and out. “So fucking good.
Look at me,” he begs.
I blink up at his face again, taking in the way his brows
have lowered, the way his bottom lip is pulled between his
teeth, and the way his eyes are watching me. He hits the back
of my throat repeatedly, and I notice the way the muscles
along his stomach are expanding and tightening, signaling
what is next.
As if he can read my mind, he groans. “Fuck, I’m going to
come.” His movements pick up and he’s being more forceful
now. I squeeze my thighs to relieve some of the pressure and
suck harder. I’m surprised when he withdraws from my mouth
and comes across my bare chest. With another moan of my
name, he leans forward in exhaustion, his forehead pressed
against the headboard. I wait patiently for him to catch his
breath and lower his body to sit next to me.
His hand reaches over, and to my horror he slowly rubs his
hand across the mess he made on my skin. He watches it,
transfixed for a moment before meeting my eyes.
“All mine.” He grins cheekily, pressing a soft kiss to my
open mouth.
“I—” I stare down at my sticky chest.
“You like it.” He smiles, and I don’t deny it. “It looks good
on you.” I can tell by the way his eyes are focused on the
shining skin that he really does think that.
“You’re filthy” is all I can think to say.
“Yeah? And so are you.” He nods to my chest and grabs me
by the hips to yank me off of the bed.
I squeal, and he covers my mouth with one hand. “Shh, we
don’t want an audience while I’m fucking you over the desk,
now, do we?”
chapter
one hundred and twenty-eight
HARDIN
The smell of coffee fills my nostrils, and I reach for Tessa,
knowing she’s close by. When my search comes up empty, I
open my eyes to find two cups of coffee resting on the dresser
and Tessa packing her bag.
“What time is it?” I ask her, hoping she says it’s still early.
“Nearly noon,” she says instead.
Fuck, I’ve slept through half the damn day.
“I’ve already packed everything and had breakfast. Lunch
will be ready soon,” she tells me with a smile. She’s already
showered and gotten herself dressed. She’s wearing those
damn jeans again, the tight pair.
I force myself out of bed and try to keep myself from
lashing out at her for not waking me earlier. “Cool,” I respond
and reach for my pants from the floor . . . only they aren’t on
the floor anymore.
“Here.” Tessa hands me the jeans, folded, of course. “Are
you okay?” She must sense my hostility.
“I’m fine.”
“Hardin,” she presses. I knew she fucking would.
“I’m okay; the weekend just went too fast, that’s all.”
Her smile is enough to melt the ice that had formed around
my mood. “It really has,” she agrees.
I hate this living-separate shit. I hate it so fucking much.
“We only have to get through until Thursday,” she says,
trying to make the distance seem less . . . distant.
“What did Karen make for lunch?” I change the subject.
“Nothing involving maple syrup, I hope.”
She laughs. “No, no syrup.”
Landon is brooding at the table when we walk into the
dining room at the same time as Karen, who’s carrying a tray
of sandwiches. Tessa sits down next to Landon, and I watch as
she asks him if he’s all right.
“I’m okay, just feeling a little off,” he says.
I never thought I’d see the day he’d lie to her.
“Are you sure, because you’ve been acting so—”
“Tessa . . .” He reaches up, and I swear, if he puts his hand
on hers . . . “I’m fine.” He smiles, lowering his hand from the
table. I quickly reach for her hand and them on my lap,
covered with my own.
The boring table chat fades in and out. I don’t participate,
and all too soon it’s time for me to drive Tessa back to Seattle.
I’m once again reminded of what a fucking idiot I am for not
moving there in the first place.
“I’ll see you again before you leave, right?” Tessa’s eyes
water as Landon hugs her goodbye. I look away.
“Yeah, of course. Maybe I’ll come up there to visit you
once you’re back from your visit to the queen?” he quips,
making her smile. I appreciate his effort, especially since I’m
going to be the one she loses her shit on when she finds out
that him and Dakota broke up and I kept it from her.
Ten minutes later, I’m practically dragging Tessa’s ass out
of the house. Karen is much more upset than you would expect
any reasonable person to be, and she tells Tessa that she loves
her, which is pretty fucking weird.
“Does it make me a horrible person that I feel more
comfortable around your family than my own?” Tessa asks me
after fifteen minutes of driving in silence.
“Yes.”
She glares at me, making me roll my eyes at her pretend
anger. “Both of our families are fucked up,” I say, and she
nods, returning to her silence.
The closer my car gets to Seattle, the stronger the current of
anxiety that’s flowing through my chest. I don’t want to spend
the entire week away from her. Four days away from Tessa is a
fucking lifetime.
The moment I get back, I’m heading straight to the gym.
chapter
one hundred and twenty-nine
TESSA
On Monday morning I arrive for my appointment half an hour
early and take a seat in one of the mass-produced, blue-
checkered chairs in the waiting room, which, I can’t help but
notice, is nearly full, crying children and coughing women
crowding the space. I try to keep myself occupied by flipping
through a magazine, but the only one available is a parenting
journal, full of diaper ads and “revolutionary” breast-feeding
tips.
“Young? Theresa Young?” An elderly woman calls my
name as she looks up from a clipboard. I stand quickly,
sidestepping a toddler who’s scooting around on the floor with
a toy truck in his hand. The truck rolls over my shoe, and he
giggles. I smile down at him, earning an adorable grin in
return.
“How far along are you?” a woman, the boy’s mother, I
assume, asks. Her eyes dart to my stomach, and I instinctively
place my hand on it.
An uncomfortable laugh escapes. “Oh! I’m not . . .”
“I’m sorry!” She flushes. “I just assumed, you don’t look
it . . . I just thought . . .” The fact that she’s as uncomfortable
as I am makes me feel lighter. Asking a woman how far along
she is never ends well, especially when she isn’t pregnant. The
woman laughs. “Well, now you know for future reference
when you’re a mother yourself . . . the filter disappears!”
I don’t allow my mind to go there; I don’t have time to
ponder the future and the fact that if I want a life with Hardin,
I’ll never be a mother. I’ll never have an adorable toddler
running a toy truck over my shoes or climbing onto my lap. I
turn back to look at him one last time.
I smile politely and make my way to the nurse, who
immediately hands me a small cup and instructs me to go to
the restroom down the hall to complete the pregnancy test.
Despite my period, I’m battling nerves at the idea. Hardin and
I have been so careless lately, and the last thing we need is an
unplanned pregnancy. It would push him over the edge. It
could completely upend everything I want to do with my life,
to have a baby now.
When I hand the full cup back to the nurse, she guides me
into an empty room and wraps a blood-pressure cuff around
my arm. “Uncross your legs, dear,” she sweetly instructs, and I
do as I’m told. After taking my temperature, the woman
disappears, and a few minutes later I hear a knock on the door,
and a distinguished-looking middle-aged man with mostly
gray hair enters. He removes a pair of thick glasses and
reaches a hand out to me.
“Dr. West. It’s nice to meet you, Theresa,” he introduces
himself amiably. I was hoping for a female doctor, but he
seems nice enough. I do wish he was less attractive, though; it
would make things less awkward for me during this already
uncomfortable experience.
Dr. West asks a lot of questions, most of which are
absolutely horrifying. I have to tell him about Hardin and me
having unprotected sex—on more than one occasion—during
which I force myself to maintain eye contact with him.
Halfway through the embarrassing ordeal, the nurse returns
and places a piece of paper on top of the desk. Dr. West
glances at it, and I hold my breath until he speaks.
He gives me a warm smile. “Well, you’re not pregnant, so
now we can begin.”
And I let out the deep breath I didn’t realize I was even
holding.
He reels off many options, some of which I’ve never even
heard of, before we settle on the shot.
“Before I give you the shot, I’ll need to do a brief pelvic
exam; is that okay?”
I nod and swallow my nervousness. I don’t know why I’m
so uncomfortable; he’s only a doctor, and I’m an adult. I
should have scheduled this appointment for after my period. I
didn’t think about the actual exam when I called for the
appointment. I only wanted Hardin off my back.
“ALMOST FINISHED,” Dr. West announces. The exam is
proving to be quick and not nearly as awkward as I assumed it
would be, which is a blessing.
He pops up, a deep line forming across his forehead. “Have
you had a pelvic exam before?”
“No, I don’t think so,” I answer quietly. I know I haven’t,
but the last part of my response was a nervous add-on. My
eyes turn to the screen in front of him, and he moves the probe
around the bottom of my belly, across my pelvis.
“Hmm,” he says to himself. My unease grows—was the
test wrong, and there really is a baby in there after all? I begin
to panic. I’m too young, and I haven’t finished college, and
Hardin and I are in such an in-between place and—
“I’m a little concerned about the size of your cervix,” he
finally says. “It’s nothing to worry about at the moment, but
I’d like to see you again to do further testing.”
“ ‘Nothing to worry about’?” My mouth is dry, and my
stomach is in knots. My palms start sweating. “What does that
mean?”
“Nothing as of now . . . I can’t be sure,” he says—in a very
unconvincing tone.
I pull myself up, pushing the gown back down. “What
could it mean?”
“Well . . .” Dr. West pushes his thick glasses back up his
nose. “Worst case would be infertility, but without further
testing, there’s no way to know just from this exam. I don’t see
any cysts, and that’s a really good sign.” He gestures to the
screen.
My heart drops onto the cold tile floor. “What . . . what are
the chances?” I can’t hear my own voice or thoughts.
“I can’t say. This isn’t a diagnosis, Miss Young. What I
mentioned is the worst-case scenario; please don’t fret over it
until we get some testing done. I want to go ahead with your
shot today, get some blood drawn for some tests, and schedule
a follow-up.” After a moment he adds, “Okay?”
I nod, unable to speak. I just heard him say it wasn’t a
diagnosis, but it sure feels like one. I felt the dreadful, empty
flutter of my nerves crawling up my spine at the first mention
of a problem. Only the hammering of my heart can be heard in
the quiet room. I’m sulking, and I know it, but I don’t care.
“This happens all the time; don’t trouble yourself over it.
We’ll clear it up; it’s nothing, I’m sure,” he says rather stiffly,
and then exits the room, leaving me to deal with the cruel,
sharp edges of the situation on my own. He isn’t sure, nothing
is certain; he seems fairly blasé about it—so why can’t I shake
the anxiety gnawing at me?
I’m given the birth-control shot by the nurse, who has
suddenly turned into a mother hen, talking about her
grandchildren and their love of her homemade cookies. I stay
quiet mostly, only speaking enough to be polite. I feel
nauseous.
She gives me a thorough briefing about my new
contraceptive, going over the pros and cons that I’ve already
heard from Dr. West. I’m thrilled to not have to deal with a
period anymore, slightly concerned over the weight gain, but
figure it’s an even trade.
She tells me that since I’m on my period now, the shot will
be effective immediately, but to wait three days to have
unprotected sex, just to be safe. Then she reminds me that this
won’t protect me from STDs, only pregnancy.
After scheduling the dreaded follow-up appointment, I head
straight downtown to take my passport photo and finalize the
paperwork. Of course, it has already been paid for by Mr.
Vance. I cringe at the amount of money everyone around me
seems to have no problem spending on me.
Every single person I pass on the street seems to be
pregnant or carrying a child in their arms. I shouldn’t have
pressed the doctor for information; now I’m going to be
paranoid until my follow-up, which of course isn’t for another
three weeks. Three weeks to drive myself mad, three weeks to
obsess over the chance that I might not be able to get pregnant.
I don’t know why the idea is so painful; I thought I had
somewhat come to terms with the idea of not having children.
I can’t mention this to Hardin yet, not until I know for sure.
Not that it will make a difference to his plans anyway.
I text Hardin when I get back to my car, telling him that my
appointment went well, and head back to Christian and
Kimberly’s house. By the time I arrive, I’ve convinced myself
that I’ll spend the week avoiding the topic. There’s no reason
to worry myself when Dr. West assured me that nothing was
definite at this point. The hollowness in my chest says
otherwise, but I have to ignore it and move on for now. I’m
going to England. For the first time in my life, I’m going to be
traveling outside of the state of Washington, and I couldn’t be
more excited. Nervous, but excited.
chapter
one hundred and thirty
HARDIN
Tessa looks like she could pass out any minute. She’s shoved
an ink pen between her teeth as she looks over her checklist
again. Apparently traveling across the globe kicks her neurotic
tendencies into high gear.
“Are you sure you have everything?” I sarcastically ask.
“What? Yes,” she huffs, focused on the task of rechecking
her carry-on bag for the tenth time since we arrived at the
airport.
“If we don’t go inside now, we’re going to miss our flight,”
I warn her.
“I know.” She looks up at me, her hand still digging around
that damn bag. She’s crazy—adorable as hell, but fucking
nuts. “You’re sure about leaving your car here?” she asks.
“Yes. That’s what this parking lot is for: cars.” I point up at
the Long-Term Parking sign above our heads and say, “It’s for
cars with no commitment issues.”
Tessa stares at me blankly, as if I’ve said nothing at all.
“Just give me the bag,” I say, pulling the hideous thing
from her shoulder. It’s too heavy for her to be carrying around.
The woman has packed half of her shit in this bag alone.
“I’ll pull the case, then.” She reaches for the handle of the
wheelie suitcase.
“No, I’ve got it. Relax, would you? It’ll be fine,” I assure
her. I’ll never forget how frantic she was this morning. Folding
and refolding, packing and repacking our clothes until they fit
perfectly in the case. I took it easy on her, because I know how
beyond her element this trip is. Even though she’s being as
annoying as ever, I can’t help but feel excited. Excited to be
taking her on her first trip abroad, excited at the prospect of
watching her blue-gray eyes widen at the clouds as we fly
through them. I made sure she had a seat next to the window
for that reason alone.
“Ready?” I ask her as the automatic doors open as if to
greet us.
“No.” She smiles nervously, and I lead her through the
crowded airport.
“YOU’RE GOING TO PASS OUT on me, aren’t you?” I lean
over and whisper to Tessa. She’s pale, and her small hands are
shaking on her lap. I gather them in one of mine and offer her
an assuring squeeze. She smiles at me, a nice change from the
scowl that covered her face the entire time from the ticket
kiosk until now.
That TSA agent was hitting on her; I recognized the stupid
fucking grin on his face when she smiled at him. I have the
same fucking grin. I had every right to tell him to fuck off, but
of course she didn’t agree, and she’d been scowling since she
dragged me away, my middle finger high in the air at that
asshole. “Thank God that guy’s so nearsighted,” she mumbled,
and then kept looking back over her shoulder.
Her attitude only worsened when I pressed for her to do up
her cardigan. The old man next to me is a fucking pervert, and
Tessa’s lucky she has the window seat and I can shield her
from his eyes. Being stubborn, she refused to button the damn
thing, leaving her tits on display for everyone to see. Granted,
the shirt isn’t that low cut, but when she bends down, you can
see straight down it. She ignored my protests and claimed that
I can’t control her. I’m not trying to control her, I’m trying to
prevent men from ogling over her not-so-subtle chest.
“No, I’m okay,” she hesitantly answers. Her eyes give her
away.
“We should be taking off anytime.” I glance up at the flight
attendant making her way through the cabin to check the
overhead compartments for the third time. They’re all fucking
closed, lady; let’s get a move on it before I have to carry Tessa
off of this plane. Actually, halting the trip could work in my
favor, really.
“Last chance to hop off of the plane. The tickets aren’t
refundable, but I’ll go ahead and add them to your tab,” I say,
tucking her loose hair behind her ear, and she gives me the
smallest smile I’ve ever seen. She’s still mad, but her nerves
are causing her to soften up toward me.
“Hardin,” she quietly whines. She rests her head against the
window and closes her eyes. I hate to see her so nervous; it
makes me anxious, and this trip has me on fucking anxiety
overload as it is. I lean across and pull the cover down over
her window, hoping that will help.
“How much longer?” I impatiently bark at the flight
attendant as she passes our row.
Her eyes move from Tessa to me, and she raises a snooty
brow. “A few minutes.” She forces a smile for the sake of her
job. The man next to me shifts uncomfortably, and I wish I had
purchased an extra ticket so I wouldn’t have to worry about
sitting this close to an obnoxious asshole. He smells like stale
tobacco.
“It’s been longer than a few—” I begin.
Tessa’s hand reaches over to mine; her eyes are now open,
pleading with me not to cause a scene. I take a deep breath,
closing my eyes to heighten the drama of the act.
“Fine,” I say, turning away from the attendant, who
continues down the aisle.
“Thank you,” Tessa mouths. Instead of resting her head
against the window, she gently rests it against my arm. I tap
her thigh and signal for her to lift up so I can put my arm
around her. She nuzzles into me and sighs in contentment as I
gently tighten my arm around her body. I love that sound.
The plane begins to move slowly down the runway, and
Tessa’s eyes screw shut.
By the time the plane is in the air, she has the window
cover raised and her eyes are wide with wonder as she stares
out at the rapidly shrinking landscape. “This is amazing.” She
grins. All the color has now seeped back into her face. She’s
glowing with excitement, and it’s contagious as hell. I try to
fight my grin, but it’s impossible, as she babbles on about how
everything “just looks so small.”
“See, it wasn’t so bad. We haven’t crashed yet,” I
disdainfully remark.
In response, murmers and annoyed coughs start wafting
through the nearly silent cabin, but I don’t give a shit. Tessa
understands my humor, for the most part at least, and she
shoots me an eye roll and gives me a playful jab in the chest.
“Hush,” she warns, and I chuckle.
After three hours, she’s restless. I knew she would be;
we’ve watched some of the shitty programming the airline
sponsors and gone through the SkyMall magazine twice, both
of us agreeing that a dog crate disguised as a television stand
is certainly not worth two thousand dollars.
“It’s going to be a long nine hours,” I say to her.
“Only six now,” she corrects me. Her fingers trace the
infinity-heart tattoo above my wrist.
“Only six,” I repeat. “Take a nap.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
She looks up at me. “What do you think my father is doing?
I mean, I know Landon watched him last time you were away,
but we’ll be gone for three days this time.”
Fuck. “He’ll be fine.” He’s going to be annoyed, but he’ll
get over it and thank her later.
“I’m glad we declined your father’s offer,” she says.
Fucking hell. “Why?” I choke, searching her face.
“The rehab place is too expensive.”
“And?”
“I don’t feel comfortable with your father spending that
amount of money on my father. It’s not his responsibility, and
we don’t know for sure that my father is even—”
“He’s a drug addict, Tessa.” I know she still doesn’t want to
admit it, but she knows it’s true. “And my father might as well
pay for his treatment.”
I need to call Landon as soon as we land to find out how the
“intervention” went. As much as I hope her shitbag of a dad
agreed to it, I feel guilty that Tessa wasn’t in on the plan. I
spent hours punching and kicking that bag at the gym,
pondering this shit. At the end of it, the solution was simple.
Either Richard takes his ass to rehab on my father’s dime, or
he’s out of Tessa’s life for good. I won’t have his fucking
addiction being a burden on her. I cause her enough fucking
problems, and if anyone is going to cause her stress, it will be
me. I sent Landon to do the intervention, to tell the man that he
had to choose one or the other: rehab or no Tessa. I figured
things wouldn’t turn violent if Landon, as opposed to me, was
in charge. As much as it eats at me that my father will be the
one who’s actually helping Tessa, since he’s the one paying, I
couldn’t turn him down. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.
“I don’t know.” She sighs, looking out the window. “I need
to think about it.”
“Well . . .” I begin, and she frowns at the tone of my voice.
“What did you do?” She narrows her eyes and pulls away
from me. She can’t go far; she’s stuck sitting with me until we
land.
“We’ll talk about it later.” I glance at the man next to me.
These airlines should really make these seats wider. If the
armrest between Tessa and me wasn’t lifted, I’d be sitting on
top of the guy.
Her eyes go wide. “You sent him, didn’t you?” she
whispers forcefully, careful not to cause a scene.
“I didn’t send your father anywhere.” It’s true. I don’t know
whether he agreed to go or not.
“You tried, though, didn’t you?”
“Perhaps,” I admit.
She shakes her head in disbelief and leans back against the
headrest, staring off into space.
“You’re mad, huh?” I ask her.
She ignores me.
“Theresa . . .” My voice is too loud and has the effect on
her that I intend it to have. Her eyes snap open, and she turns
to me.
“I’m not mad,” she whispers. “I’m just surprised, and I’m
trying to figure out how I feel about it, okay?”
“Okay.” Her reaction was much better than I had
anticipated.
“I can’t stand when you keep things from me. You do it, my
mother does it . . . I’m not a child. I am capable of handling
things that are thrown at me, wouldn’t you say?”
I stop myself from uttering the first thought that comes to
my mind. I’m getting better and better at this shit. “Yes,” I
calmly reply, “but that doesn’t mean that I won’t try and filter
out the bullshit for you.”
Her eyes soften, and she nods once. “I understand that, but I
need you to stop keeping things from me. Anything that
involves you, Landon, or my father, I need to know about. I
always end up finding out anyway. Why prolong the
inevitable?” she asks.
“Okay,” I agree without elaborating. “From now on I won’t
keep shit from you.” What I don’t mention is that nothing
from the past that I’ve kept from her counts; I’m only agreeing
that from this moment on I will try not to keep her in the dark.
A flash of emotion moves over her face, but I can’t read it.
I almost think it is guilt. “Unless it’s something that I’m better
off not knowing,” she softly adds.
Okay . . .
“What kind of things are we talking about here?” I ask her.
“Something that you would be better off not being told also
counts. For example, the fact that my gynecologist is a male,”
she informs me.
“What?” Tessa’s doctor being a male never crossed my
mind. I didn’t know that dude doctors did such things.
“See, you were better off not knowing that, weren’t you?”
She isn’t even trying to hide her little smart-ass grin at my
irritation and jealousy.
“You’ll get a new doctor.”
She slowly shakes her head at me, telling me she’ll do no
such thing. I lean over and whisper into her ear, “You’re lucky
the bathrooms on this thing are too small to fuck you in.” Her
breathing hitches, and she immediately squeezes her thighs
together. I love her reaction to my filthy mouth; it’s always
instantaneous. Plus, I needed to distract her and change the
subject for both of our sakes.
“I would press you against the door and fuck you against
the wall.” I move my hand farther up her closed thighs. “I
would cover your mouth to muffle your screams.”
She gulps.
“It would feel so fucking good, your legs wrapped around
my waist, your fingers tugging at my hair.”
Her eyes are wide, pupils blown, and fuck, I wish the
bathrooms weren’t so damn small. Literally, I can’t even
stretch out my arms in the tiny space. Here I paid over a
thousand dollars per round-trip ticket—you’d think I could at
least fuck my girl in the damn bathroom during the long flight.
“Squeezing your legs together won’t make the ache
disappear,” I continue whispering into her ear. I lower her tray
table so I can bring my hand to the juncture of her thighs.
“Only I can.” She looks like she’s about to come from my
words alone. “The rest of the flight is going to be pretty
uncomfortable for you, what with soaking panties and all.” I
press a kiss beneath her ear, using my tongue to tease her
further, and the man next to me coughs.
“Problem?” I ask him, not giving a fuck if he heard
anything I said to her. He quickly shakes his head and returns
his attention to the e-reader in his hand. I lean over, noting the
first paragraph on the dimly lit page. I spot the name “Holden”
and immediately chuckle. Only pretentious middle-aged men
and bearded hipsters actually enjoy reading The Catcher in the
Rye. What is so appealing about an overprivileged, teenage
fucking stalker? Nothing.
“Shall I continue?” I lean back over to Tessa, who is now
panting.
“No.” She lifts her tray table, clicking it closed and ending
my fun.
“Only five more hours now.” I grin at her, ignoring how
hard I am from the thought of how wet she must be right now.
“You’re an asshole,” she whispers. The smile that I love
plays on her lips.
“And you love me,” I counter, making that smile grow.
NAVIGATING THROUGH HEATHROW wasn’t as bad as I
remembered. We got our bags quickly. Tessa was quiet most of
the time, and her hand in mine was the only assurance I
needed that she wasn’t too upset about the rehab shit. The
rental car was ready for us, and I watched in amusement as
Tessa promptly walked to the wrong side of the vehicle.
By the time we make it to Hampstead, she’s asleep. She
tried to stay awake and stare out the window, taking it all in,
but she couldn’t keep her eyes open. The old town looks the
same as it did the last time I was here—of course it does, why
wouldn’t it? It’s only been a few months. For some reason I
feel like the moment that I drove past the official Hampstead
welcome sign with Tessa in the passenger seat, the village
would have altered somehow.
As I pass the historic homes and tourist attractions, I finally
arrive in the residential part of town. Contrary to popular
belief, not everyone in Hampstead lives in a historic mansion
and is rolling in wealth. All that is clear as I pull into my
mum’s gravel driveway. The old house looks like it could
topple over any day now, and I’m glad to see the Sold sign on
the lawn. Her future husband’s house, just next door, is in
much better shape than this shithole and about twice the size.
“Tessa.” I call her out of her deep sleep. She’s probably
drooled all over the damn window.
My mum appears at the front door only seconds after the
headlights hit her windows. She pushes open the screen door
and rushes down the small steps like a madwoman. Tessa’s
eyes open, and she focuses on my mum, who now is pulling at
the passenger-door handle to get to her. What is it with
everyone liking her so much?
“Tessa! Hardin!” My mum’s voice is high and overly
excited as Tessa unbuckles her seat belt and climbs out of the
car. Womanly hugs and greetings are exchanged while I grab
the bags from the trunk.
“I’m so glad you two are here.” My mum smiles, wiping a
tear from her eyes. This is going to be a long weekend.
“Us, too.” Tessa answers for me and allows my mum to
pull her by the hand into the small house.
“I don’t like tea, so there won’t be any stereotypical English
welcome here, but I made some coffee. I know you both love
your coffee,” my mum hums.
Tessa laughs, thanking her. My mum is keeping her
distance from me, obviously trying not to set me off during the
weekend of her wedding. The two women disappear into the
kitchen, and I take the stairs to my old bedroom to get rid of
these bags. I hear their laughter travel through the house, and I
try to convince myself that nothing catastrophic will happen
this weekend. Everything will be fine.
The room is empty except for my old twin bed and a
dresser. The wallpaper has been stripped off, leaving a hideous
trail of glue along the walls. My mum is obviously trying to
get the place ready for the new owner, but seeing the place like
this actually makes me feel a little strange.
chapter
one hundred and thirty-one
TESSA
I still can’t believe you both came,” Trish says to me. She
hands me a cup of coffee—black, just the way I like it—and I
smile at her thoughtfulness. She’s a beautiful woman, with
bright eyes and an equally bright smile—and she’s dressed in a
deep blue tracksuit.
“I’m so glad we could make it,” I tell her. I take a glance at
the clock on the oven; already 10 p.m. The long flight and
time change have thrown me off.
“Me, too. If it wasn’t for you, I know he wouldn’t be here.”
She places her hand over mine. Unsure how to respond, I
smile. She catches on to my discomfort and changes the
subject.
“How was the flight? Did Hardin behave?” Her laugh is
gentle, and I don’t have the heart to tell her that her son was a
complete tyrant throughout the security scan and half of the
flight.
“He was fine.” I take a sip of the steaming coffee just as
Hardin joins us in the kitchen. The house is old and cramped,
too many walls close off too much of the space. The only
decorations are brown moving boxes piled in the corners, but I
feel oddly comfortable and at ease in Hardin’s childhood
home. I can tell by the look on his face when he leans down to
walk under the archway leading to the kitchen that he doesn’t
feel the same way about this house. These walls hold too many
memories for him, and instantly my impression of the place
begins to dim.
“What’s with the wallpaper?” he asks.
“I was removing it all to paint before selling, but the new
owners are planning to tear the house down anyway. They
want to build an entirely new home on the lot,” his mother
explains. I like the idea of the house being demolished.
“Good, it’s a shit house anyway,” he grumbles and picks up
my coffee cup to take a sip. “Are you tired?” He turns to me.
“I’m fine,” I say, meaning it. I enjoy Trish’s humor and
warm company. I’m tired, but there’ll be plenty of time to
sleep. It’s still fairly early.
“I’ve been staying at Mike’s house, next door. I assumed
you wouldn’t want to stay there.”
“Obviously not,” Hardin replies. I take my coffee back
from him, giving him a silent plea to be polite to his mother.
“Anyway”—Trish ignores his rude remark—“I have plans
for her tomorrow, so I hope you can occupy yourself.”
It takes me a moment to realize she’s referring to me.
“What sort of plans?” Hardin doesn’t seem pleased with the
idea.
“Just prewedding things. I have an appointment for us at a
spa in town, and then I’d love it if she’d go with me to the last
fitting of my wedding dress.”
“Of course,” I say at the same time that Hardin asks, “How
long will that take?”
“Just the afternoon, I’m sure,” Trish assures her son.
“That’s only if you want to accompany me, Tessa. You don’t
have to, I just thought it would be nice for us to spend some
time together while you’re here.”
“I’d love to.” I smile at her. Hardin doesn’t argue, which is
good, because he would have lost.
“I’m glad.” She smiles, too. “My friend Susan will be
joining us for lunch. She’s dying to meet you, she’s been
hearing about you for so long that she doesn’t believe you
exist, she—”
Hardin begins to choke on his coffee, interrupting his
mother’s excited rambling.
“Susan Kingsley?” He eyes Trish, his shoulders tight and
his voice shaky.
“Yes . . . well, her name is no longer Kingsley, she’s
remarried.” Trish stares back at him in a way that makes me
feel like I’ve wandered into some sort of private conversation
where I’m not wanted. Hardin stares back and forth between
his mother and the wall before turning on his heel and leaving
us alone in the kitchen.
“I’m going to head next door now for bed. If you need
anything, let me know.” The excitement in her voice has
faded; she sounds drained. Trish leans over and gives me a
quick kiss on the cheek before opening the back door and
stepping outside.
I stand alone in the kitchen for a few minutes, finishing my
coffee, which is pointless, because I need to go to sleep, but I
finish it anyway and rinse the cup out in the sink before
heading up the staircase to find Hardin. The upstairs hall is
empty; torn wallpaper hangs on one side of the narrow
passageway, and I can’t help but compare Ken’s magnificent
house to this one; the differences are impossible to ignore.
“Hardin?” I call for him. All the doors are closed, and I
don’t feel comfortable opening them without knowing what’s
on the other side.
“Second door,” he calls back. I follow his voice to the
second door along the hallway and push it open. The handle
sticks, and I have to use my foot to get the wood to budge.
Hardin is sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his
hands, when I enter. He looks up at me, and I walk over to
him.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, running my fingers through his
messy hair.
“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” he says, taking me by
surprise.
“Why?” I sit down on the bed next to him, keeping a few
inches between our bodies.
“Because”—he sighs—“. . . I just shouldn’t have.” He lies
back against the mattress and throws his arm over his face, so
I’m unable to read his expression.
“Hardin . . .”
“I’m tired, Tessa, go to sleep.” His voice is muffled by his
arm, but I know that this is his way of ending the conversation.
“Aren’t you going to change?” I press, not wanting to go to
bed without his shirt.
“No.” He rolls over onto his stomach and reaches up to shut
off the light.
chapter
one hundred and thirty-two
TESSA
When my alarm sounds at nine, I have to force myself to get
out of bed. I barely slept; I was tossing and turning all night.
The last time I checked the time it was three in the morning
and I wasn’t sure if I had gotten any sleep or if I had been
awake the entire time.
Hardin is asleep, his arms crossed over his stomach. He
didn’t hold me last night, not once. The only contact we had
consisted of his hands reaching for me in his sleep, just to
make sure I was still there, before they went back to his
stomach. His mood change doesn’t completely surprise me. I
know he didn’t want to come here for the wedding, but the
high level of his anxiety doesn’t make much sense to me,
especially since he refuses to talk to me about it. I’d like to ask
him just how he expected to deal with me moving here with
him if he doesn’t even want me here for one weekend.
I brush my hand over his forehead, pushing the mass of hair
away, and move down to touch the light stubble that darkens
his jawline. His eyelids flutter and I quickly pull away and
stand to my feet. I don’t want to wake him, his sleep wasn’t
the least bit peaceful either. I wish I knew what was haunting
him. I wish he hadn’t closed down so abruptly. He revealed
everything to me in the letter that he wrote me—and later
destroyed—and while most of the things he referred to
concerned terrible mistakes he’d made, I’ve dealt with them
and moved on. Nothing he did in his past will cause any
damage to our future. He needs to know this. He has to know
this, or it will never work.
The bathroom isn’t hard to find, and I wait patiently for the
water to turn from brown to clear. The shower is loud and the
water pressure is very strong, almost painful, but it does
wonders for the tension I’ve accumulated in my back and
shoulder muscles.
I’m fully dressed in a pair of jeans and a cream tank top,
but I hesitate before pulling on a floral-print lace sweater. It
doesn’t have buttons, which means Hardin can’t demand that I
close it; he’s lucky I’m not wearing the tank top alone. It’s
spring now, and here in Central London it feels like it.
Trish didn’t give me a specific time for our little jaunt
today, so I head downstairs to make a pot of coffee. An hour
later, I return upstairs to grab my e-reader so I can read for a
while. Hardin has turned over onto his back, and his face is set
in a full frown. Without disturbing him, I quickly leave the
room and find my way back to the kitchen table. A couple of
hours pass, and I’m relieved when Trish comes walking
through the back door. Her brown hair is pulled back, just like
mine, in a low bun, and she’s dressed in—what else—a
tracksuit.
“I was hoping you’d be awake, I wanted to give you some
time to sleep in after the long day you had yesterday.” She
smiles. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
I glance toward the narrow staircase one last time, hoping
that Hardin will stroll down it with a smile and a kiss goodbye,
but that doesn’t happen. I grab my purse and follow Trish out
the back door.
chapter
one hundred and thirty-three
HARDIN
When I reach for Tessa, she isn’t in the bed. I don’t know
what time it is, but the sun is too damn bright, pouring through
the uncovered windows like it’s trying to force me awake. I
slept like shit all night, and Tessa kept tossing and turning in
her sleep. I was awake most of the night, keeping my distance
from her restless body. I need to get a grip before I ruin this
entire weekend for her, but I just can’t seem to shake my
paranoia. Not after my mum had the nerve to invite Susan
Kingsley to have lunch with her and Tessa.
I don’t bother changing my clothes, just brush my teeth and
toss some water onto my hair. Tessa has taken a shower
already; her toiletry bag is tucked away neatly in the otherwise
empty cabinet.
When I get to the kitchen, the coffeepot is still hot and half
full, and a rinsed coffee mug rests on the counter. Tessa and
my mum must have already left; I should’ve spoken up and
kept her from going. Why didn’t I? This day can go one of two
ways: Susan could be a complete bitch and make it hell for
Tessa¸ or she could keep her goddamn mouth shut, and
everything could be fine.
What the fuck am I supposed to do all day while my mum
has Tessa prancing around town? I could go find them, it
wouldn’t be hard, but my mum would probably be upset, and
after all, tomorrow is her wedding day. I promised Tess that
I’d be on my best behavior this weekend, and even though I’ve
already broken the promise, I don’t need to make it any worse.
chapter
one hundred and thirty-four
TESSA
Your hair looks so beautiful.” Trish reaches a newly
manicured hand across the table to touch my head.
“Thank you. I’m getting used to it.” I smile, looking into
the mirror directly behind our table. The woman at the spa was
appalled that I had never dyed my hair before. After a few
minutes of persuading, I agreed to darken it slightly, but only
at the roots. The final color is a very light brown fading into
my natural blond toward the ends. The difference is barely
noticeable and looks much more natural than I expected. The
color isn’t permanent; it’ll only last a month. I wasn’t ready
for a longer-term change, but the more I look at myself in the
mirror, the more I like what I see.
The woman did wonders on my eyebrows, too, plucking
them into a perfect arch, and my nails and toes are painted a
deep red. I declined Trish’s offer to get a Brazilian wax; as
much as I’ve considered getting one, it would be awkward to
do it with Hardin’s mother, and I’m fine with shaving for now.
During the walk to the car, Trish teases me about my flimsy
shoes, the same way her son does, and I hold back from
making a dig at her daily tracksuit-wearing.
I stare out the window the entire drive, taking in every
single home, building, store, and person on the street.
“This is the place,” Trish says minutes later as she pulls her
car into a covered parking lot nestled between two small
buildings. I follow her to the entrance of the smaller of the
two.
I notice that there’s moss covering the entirety of the brick
building, and the sight of it calls forth my inner Landon, as
references to The Hobbit pass through my mind. Landon
would think the exact same thing if he were here, and we’d
share a laugh while Hardin griped about how terrible the
movies are and how they destroyed J.R.R. Tolkien’s vision.
Landon would argue back, as always, claiming that Hardin
secretly loves the movies, and Hardin would flip him off.
Selfishly, I imagine a place where Hardin, Landon, and I could
live close to one another, a place where Landon and Dakota
could live in Seattle, maybe in the same building as Hardin
and me. A place where one of the few people who actually
care about me won’t be moving across the country in a few
weeks.
“It’s pretty warm today; do you want to eat outside?” Trish
asks, gesturing to the metal tables lined along the terrace.
“That would be fine.” I smile, following her to a table at the
end of the row.
The waitress brings a pitcher of water to our table and
places two glasses in front of us. Even the water looks better in
England; the pitcher is filled with ice and perfectly shaped
lemon circles.
Trish’s eyes search the sidewalks. “We have one more
joining us . . . she should be here any—There she is!”
I turn to see a tall brunette bustling across the street, her
hands waving in the air. Her floor-length skirt and high heels
are making it difficult for her to move as quickly as she
appears to be trying to do.
“Susan!” Trish’s face lights up at the woman’s clumsy
entrance.
“Trish, darling, how are you?” Susan leans down to kiss
both of Trish’s cheeks before turning to me and doing the
same. I feel awkward as I smile uncomfortably, unsure
whether or not I should return the unfamiliar greeting.
The woman’s eyes are a deep blue, making for the most
beautiful contrast with her pale skin and dark hair. She pulls
away before I can decide what to do. “You must be Theresa;
I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you.” She smiles
and surprises me by taking both of my hands into hers. She
gently squeezes them and gives me a bright smile before
pulling out the chair next to me and taking a seat.
“It’s nice to meet you.” I smile at her. I have no idea what
to make of the woman. I know that I don’t like the way that
hearing her name affected Hardin last night, but she seems so
lovely, it’s confusing.
“Have you been waiting long?” she asks and turns around
to hang her purse over the back of her chair.
“No, we just arrived. We had a full morning at the spa.”
Trish flips her glossy brown hair over her shoulder.
“I can see that; the two of you smell like a bundle of
flowers.” Susan laughs, filling her glass with water. Her accent
is elegant and much thicker than Hardin’s and Trish’s.
Despite Hardin’s mood change last night, I’m in love with
England, especially this village. I did my research before we
arrived, but the photographs on the internet don’t do justice to
the old-fashioned beauty of the area. I’m in awe as I gaze
around, and wonder how something as simple as a cobblestone
street lined with small cafés and shops could be so enchanting,
so intriguing.
“Are you ready for your last fitting today?” Susan asks
Trish. I continue to take in the surroundings, only vaguely
listening to the women talk. My attention is drawn across the
street to the quaint old buiding that houses the library. I can
only imagine the collection of books it holds.
“Yes, I am, and if it doesn’t fit this time, I think I’ll have to
sue the shop owner.” Trish laughs. I turn my gaze to them and
force myself to keep from gawking at the architecture until I
can get Hardin to take me sightseeing properly.
“Well, seeing as how I am the owner, I may have a problem
with that.” Susan’s laugh is low and very charming. I have to
keep reminding myself to be cautious of her.
My imagination begins to wander as I stare at the beautiful
woman. Has Hardin been with her intimately? He’s mentioned
having sexual encounters with older women—quite a few of
them—but I’ve never allowed him to elaborate. Is Susan, with
her wide blue eyes and long brown hair, one of them? I
shudder at the thought. I sure hope not.
I ignore the pang of jealousy that comes with the thought
and force myself to enjoy the mouthwatering sandwich that the
waitress has just placed in front of me.
“So, Theresa, tell me about yourself.” Susan stabs a piece
of lettuce with her fork and brings it to her painted lips.
“You can call me Tessa,” I nervously begin. “I’m finishing
my freshman year at Washington Central, and I just moved to
Seattle.” I glance at Trish, who, for some reason, is frowning.
Hardin must not have told her about my move, or maybe he
did, and she’s upset that he didn’t move with me?
“I’ve heard that Seattle is a lovely city. I’ve never been to
America”—Susan scrunches her nose—“but my husband has
promised to take me this summer.”
“You should definitely visit . . . it’s nice,” I remark stupidly.
I’m sitting in a village right out of a storybook, and I’m saying
that America is nice. Susan would probably hate the place. I’m
nervous now, and my hands are slightly shaky as I pull my cell
phone out of my bag to send a text message to Hardin. Just a
simple I miss you.
The rest of lunch is filled with wedding talk, and I find that
I can’t help but like Susan. She just married her second
husband last summer; she planned the wedding herself, and
she has no children, only a niece and a nephew. She owns the
bridal shop where Trish purchased her gown; it’s one of five in
North Central London. Her husband owns and operates three
of the most popular pubs in the area, all within three miles of
one another.
Susan’s bridal shop is only a few blocks away from the
restaurant, so we decide to walk. It’s warm today, and the sun
is bright; even the air seems more refreshing than it was in
Washington. Hardin still hasn’t responded to my text message,
but somehow I knew he wouldn’t.
“Champagne?” Susan offers the moment we step through
the door of the small shop. The space is minimal, but it’s
decorated perfectly, old-fashioned and charming, black and
white covering every inch.
“Oh no, thank you.” I smile.
Trish takes her up on her offer and promises me that she’ll
only have one glass. I almost tell her to have as many as she
wants, to enjoy herself, but I don’t trust myself to drive in
England; it feels odd enough in the passenger seat. As I watch
Trish laugh and joke with Susan, I can’t help but think about
how different Trish and Hardin really are. She’s so bubbly and
lively, and Hardin is so . . . well, Hardin. I know they don’t
have much of a relationship, but I’d like to think that this visit
could change that. Not completely—that’s too much to ask—
but hopefully Hardin will at least warm up to his mother on
her wedding day.
“I’ll be out in a minute; you can make yourself at home,”
Trish says to me before pulling the dressing room curtain
closed. I take a seat on the plush white couch and laugh when I
hear her cursing at Susan for pinching her with the zipper.
Maybe she and Hardin are more alike than I thought.
“Excuse me.” A female voice interrupts my thoughts, and I
look up to meet the blue eyes of a very pregnant young
woman.
“I’m sorry, have you seen Susan?” she asks, her eyes
scanning the space.
“She’s in there.” I point to the curtain of the dressing room
that Trish disappeared into with her wedding dress only
minutes ago.
“Thank you.” She smiles, sighing with what sounds like
relief. “If she asks, I arrived right at two,” the girl instructs me
and smiles. She must work here. My eyes travel down to the
name tag fastened to her white long-sleeve shirt.
NATALIE, it says.
I glance at the clock. It’s five minutes past two. “Your
secret is safe with me,” I assure her.
The curtain pulls back, and Trish is revealed in her wedding
gown. It’s beautiful—she’s absolutely beautiful in the simple,
capped-sleeve gown.
“Wow,” Natalie and I say at once.
Trish steps out, taking a look at herself in the full-length
mirror, and wipes tears from her eyes.
“She does this at every fitting; this is the third,” Natalie
observes with a smile. I notice the tears welling up in her eyes
and know that mine look the same. Her hand is pressed on her
belly.
“She’s beautiful. Mike is a lucky man.” I smile toward
Hardin’s mum. Her focus is still on her reflection in the mirror,
and I don’t blame her.
“You know Trish?” the young woman politely asks.
“Yes.” I turn to face her. “I’m . . .” Hardin and I are really
going to have to discuss how introductions should go around
here. “I’m with her son,” I tell her, and her eyes widen.
“Natalie.” Susan’s voice resonates in the small shop. Trish
has paled, her eyes moving back and forth between Natalie
and me. I feel like I’m missing something. When I look back
at Natalie, I take in the deep blue of her eyes, her brown hair,
her pale skin.
Susan . . . I think. Is Susan this Natalie woman’s mother?
Natalie . . .
Holy shit. Natalie. The Natalie. The Natalie that haunted
Hardin’s conscience, the small bit of one that he has. Natalie
that Hardin chewed up and spit back out.
“You’re Natalie,” I say with realization.
She nods, keeping eye contact with me as Trish approaches
us.
“Yes, I am.” I can tell by her expression that she isn’t sure
how much I know about her, and she’s even more unsure what
to say about it. “You’re her . . . you’re . . . Tessa,” she says. I
can see her thoughts coming together.
“I’m . . .” I choke. I don’t have the slightest idea what to
say. Hardin told me that she was happy now, that she’s
forgiven him and made a new life for herself. The empathy
that I feel for her is deep. “I’m sorry . . .” I end up saying.
“I’m going to get some more champagne. Trish, come
along.” Susan grabs Trish by the arm and gently leads her
away. Trish turns her head, watching Natalie and me until she
disappears through a door, gown and all.
“Sorry for what?” Natalie’s eyes shine under the bright
lights. I can’t imagine this girl, the one in front of me, with my
Hardin. She’s so simple and beautiful, so unlike any of the
girls from his past that I’ve encountered.
Nervous laughter falls from my lips. “I don’t know . . .”
What exactly am I apologizing for? I ask myself. “F-for what
he did . . . to you.”
“You know?” I hear the surprise in her voice as she
continues to stare at me, trying to figure me out.
“I do,” I say, suddenly embarrassed and feeling the need to
explain. “And Hardin . . . he’s different now. He deeply regrets
what he did to you,” I tell her. It won’t make up for the past,
but she has to know that the Hardin I know isn’t the Hardin
that she once knew.
“I ran into him recently,” she reminds me. “He was . . . I
don’t know . . . empty when I saw him on the street. Is he
doing better now?” I watch for judgment in her cloudy blue
eyes, but there isn’t a trace of it to be found.
“Yes, he really is,” I say, trying not to look down at her
stomach. She lifts her hand, and I see a gold band on her ring
finger. I’m so happy that she’s been able to turn her life
around.
“He’s done a lot of terrible things, and I know I’m way out
of line here”—I swallow, trying not to lose my confidence
—“but it was so important to him to know that you forgave
him. It meant so much . . . thank you for finding the strength to
do that.”
To tell the truth, I don’t think that Hardin regretted what he
did to her as much as he should have, but her forgiveness did
chip away at some of the bricks he’s spent years building
between himself and the rest of the world, and I know it gave
him a little peace.
“You must really love him,” she says softly after a long
silence passes between us.
“I do, so very much.” My eyes meet hers. We’re connected,
this woman whom Hardin hurt in such a terrible manner and I,
in some strange way, and I feel the power of that connection. I
can’t begin to imagine how she felt, how deep the humiliation
and pain he caused her actually was. She was abandoned not
only by Hardin, but by her family. At the beginning, I was just
like her, a game to him, until he fell in love with me. That’s
the difference between me and this sweet pregnant woman. He
loves me, and he wasn’t capable of loving her.
I can’t help the disgusting thought that passes through my
mind, the thought that if he had loved her, I wouldn’t have him
now, and I’m selfishly grateful that he didn’t care for her the
way he cares for me.
“Does he treat you well?” she surprises me by asking.
“Most of the time . . .” I can’t help but smile at this terrible
answer. “He’s figuring it out.” I finish on a note of certainty.
“Well, that’s all I can hope for.” She returns my smile.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve prayed and prayed that Hardin would find his
salvation, and I think it’s finally happened.” Her smile grows,
and she touches her belly again. “Everyone deserves a second
chance, even the worst sinners of all, don’t you think?”
I am in awe of her. I can’t say that if Hardin had done to me
what he did to her, without so much as an apology, I’d be
sending positive thoughts out for him the way that she is. I’d
probably be wishing for his imminent demise, yet here she is,
this compassionate woman, only wanting the best for him.
“I do.” I agree with her despite my failure to understand
how she could be so forgiving.
“I know you think I’m nuts”—Natalie lightly laughs—“but
if it wasn’t for Hardin, I wouldn’t have met my Elijah, and I
wouldn’t be only days away from giving birth to our first son.”
A shiver creeps up my spine at the thought that comes to
my mind. Hardin was a stepping-stone in Natalie’s life—
actually, more like a massive bump in the road on her way to
the life she deserves. I don’t want Hardin to be a stepping-
stone in my life, a painful memory, someone I’d be forced to
forgive and come to terms with. I want Hardin to be my Elijah,
my happy ending.
Sadness overtakes my fear as she brings my hand to her
stomach, swollen in a way that mine most likely will never be,
and I notice the gold band on her finger, something I most
likely will never wear. I jump back at the movement against
my hand, and Natalie laughs.
“The little guy’s busy in there. I wish he’d come out
already.” She laughs again, and I can’t help but put my hand
back to feel the movement again. The baby in her belly kicks
at my hand once more, and I join in her happiness. I can’t help
it—it’s contagious.
“When are you due?” I ask, still mesmerized by the flutter
against my palm.
“Two days ago. He’s a stubborn one, this boy. I came back
to work to stay on my feet in hopes that he’ll decide to join
us.”
She speaks so tenderly of the unborn child. Will I ever have
this? Will I have the glow in my cheeks and the tenderness in
my voice? Will I ever feel the flutter of my baby kicking
inside of my belly? I force myself to blink away my self-pity.
Nothing is certain yet.
Nothing is certain as far as your diagnosis from Dr. West is
concerned, but you can be sure that Hardin will never agree to
father your children, a voice inside me mocks.
“Are you okay?” Natalie’s voice pulls me from my
thoughts.
“Yes, sorry. I was just daydreaming,” I lie and pull my hand
away from her belly.
“I’m really glad that I got to meet you while you’re in
town,” she says just as Trish and Susan appear from the back
room, a bouquet of flowers and a veil in Susan’s hands. I
glance at the clock; it’s two thirty. I’ve been talking to Natalie
long enough for Trish’s cheeks to become slightly flushed and
her glass empty.
“Give me five and I’ll be ready; you may need to drive!”
Trish laughs. I cringe at the thought, but when I consider the
other option—calling Hardin—driving doesn’t seem too bad.
“Take care, and congratulations again,” I tell Natalie on my
way out of the shop. Trish’s dress is in my arms, and she’s a
few feet behind me.
“You, too, Tessa.” Natalie smiles as the door closes.
“I can carry it, if it’s too heavy,” Trish says once we’re on
the sidewalk. “I can go get the car. I only had one glass, so I
can drive just fine.”
“It’s okay, really,” I say, even though I’m terrified to drive
her car.
“No, really,” she counters and takes her keys out of the
front pocket of her jacket. “I can drive.”
chapter
one hundred and thirty-five
HARDIN
I’ve paced around the entire house over a hundred times, I’ve
walked around this shitty neighborhood twice, I even called
Landon. Now I’m stir-crazy, and Tessa isn’t answering any of
my calls. Where the hell are they?
I look at my phone; it’s after three. How long could this spa
shit take?
Adrenaline is coursing through me when I hear a car
crunching over the gravel driveway. I go to a front window
and see that it’s my mum’s. Tessa gets out first and walks to
the back, pulling out a massive white bag. Something is
different about her.
“I got it!” she calls to my mum as I open the screen door. I
take the steps quickly and grab the stupid dress from her
hands.
Her hair . . . what did she do to her hair?
“I’m going next door to get Mike!” my mum yells to us.
“What the hell did you do to your hair?” I repeat my
thought out loud. Tessa frowns, and I watch the sparkle in her
eyes dim drastically.
Shit.
“I’m just asking . . . it looks nice,” I tell her and take
another look. It does look nice. She always looks beautiful.
“I had it dyed . . . you don’t like it?” She follows me into
the house. I toss the bag onto the couch. “Be careful! That’s
your mother’s wedding gown!” she shrieks, lifting the bottom
of the bag from the floor. Her hair looks shinier than usual,
too, and her eyebrows are different. Women do too much shit
to impress men who can barely tell the difference.
“I don’t have a problem with your hair, I was just surprised
by it,” I tell her, meaning it. It’s not that different from the hair
she left the house with—just a little darker toward the top, but
it’s basically the same.
“Good, because it’s my hair and I’ll wear it how I want it.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, and a laugh bursts
through my lips.
“What?” She glowers. She’s serious.
“Nothing. I’m just finding your whole almighty-powerful-
woman-thing amusing, that’s all.” I continue to laugh.
“Well, I’m glad you find it amusing because that’s how it
is,” she challenges.
“Okay.” I grab the sleeve of her sweater and pull her to me,
ignoring the cleavage on display beneath it. I get the feeling
this wouldn’t be a good time to call her on it.
“I’m serious, no more caveman shit,” she says, a small
smile breaking her scowl as she tugs at my chest.
“Okay, calm down. What the hell did my mum do to you?”
I press my lips against her forehead, and relief floods through
me because she hasn’t mentioned Susan or Natalie. I’d much
rather hear her cursing me out over her dyed hair than over my
past.
“Nothing; you were rude about my hair and I figured it was
a good time to warn you that things are changing around
here.” She bites her cheek to conceal a grin. She’s teasing and
testing, and it’s fucking adorable.
“Sure, sure, no more caveman.” I roll my eyes, and she
pulls away. “I’m serious, I get it.” I pull her back to me.
“I missed you today.” She sighs into my chest, and I wrap
my arms around her again.
“You did?” I ask, wanting her to confirm. She hasn’t been
reminded of my past after all. Everything is fine. This
weekend will be fine.
“Yeah, especially while I was getting a massage. Eduardo’s
hands were even bigger than yours.” Tessa giggles. Her
giggles turn into shrieks as I lift her over my shoulder and
head toward the stairs. I know for a fact she didn’t get a damn
massage by some man; if she had, she sure as hell wouldn’t
tell me about it and then start laughing.
See, I can lighten up on the caveman shit. Unless, of
course, there’s a real threat. Never mind that “unless”; this is
Tessa we’re talking about, and there’s always someone trying
to keep her from me.
The back door screeches open, and my mum’s voice calls
our names through the house just as I reach the halfway point
of the staircase. I groan, and Tessa wiggles, begging me to put
her down. I do as she wants, only because I’ve missed her all
day and my mum will be extra obnoxious if I show Tessa too
much affection in front of her and the neighbor.
“We’re coming!” Tessa responds when I put her back on
her feet.
“Actually, we aren’t.” I kiss the corner of her mouth, and
she smiles.
“You aren’t.” She waggles her new eyebrows, and I smack
her ass as she rushes down the stairs.
Most of the weight on my chest has been lifted. I behaved
like a fucking idiot last night for no reason. My mum wouldn’t
have purposely taken Tessa around Natalie; why was I so
worried?
“What do you two want to do for dinner? I was thinking we
could go to Zara, the four of us.” My mum turns to her soon-
to-be husband as soon as we enter the living room. Tessa nods
even though she has no idea what Zara is.
“I hate Zara. It’s too crowded, and Tessa isn’t going to like
anything there,” I grumble. Tessa would eat anything to keep
the peace, but I know she wouldn’t want to eat liver or pureed
lamb for the first time in a situation where she’d feel obligated
to smile and pretend that it’s the best thing she’s ever eaten.
“Blues Kitchen, then?” Mike suggests. Honestly, I don’t
want to go any fucking where.
“Too loud.” I rest my elbows on the counter and pick at the
edges where the Formica is chipping.
“Well, you decide and let us know,” my mum says in
exasperation. I know she’s growing impatient with me, but I’m
here, aren’t I?
Glancing at the clock, I nod. It’s only five; we won’t need
to leave for another hour. “I’m going upstairs,” I tell them.
“We need to leave in ten minutes—you know how parking
is around here,” my mum says.
Great. I hurry out of the living room. I hear Tessa following
behind me.
“Hey.” She grabs the sleeve of my shirt as I reach the
hallway.
I turn to face her.
“What?” I ask, trying to keep my tone as soft as possible
despite my irritation.
“What’s going on with you? If something’s bothering you,
just tell me and we can fix it,” she offers with a nervous smile.
“How was your lunch today?” She hasn’t brought it up, but
I can’t help but ask.
She catches on. “Oh . . .” Her eyes look down to the floor,
and I press my thumb under her chin to make her look at me.
“It was nice.”
“What did you talk about?” I ask her. It obviously wasn’t as
bad as I thought it would be, but I can tell she’s hesitant to
discuss it.
“I met her . . . Natalie. I met her.”
My blood runs cold. I slightly bend my knees to get a better
look at her face. “And?”
“She’s lovely,” Tessa says. I wait for her to frown or for her
eyes to give away her anger, but nothing comes.
“She’s ‘lovely’?” I repeat, completely and utterly confused
by her response.
“Yes, she was so sweet . . . and very pregnant.” Tessa
smiles.
“And Susan?” I hesitantly ask.
“Susan was very fun and nice as well.”
But . . . but Susan hated me for what I did to her niece. “It
was okay, then?”
“Yes, Hardin. My day was fine. I missed you, but my day
was fine.” She reaches her hand out to grab my shirt and bring
me closer to her. She looks so fucking beautiful in the dim
lighting of the hallway. “Everything is fine, don’t worry,” she
declares.
My head rests on top of hers, and she wraps her arms
tightly around my waist.
She’s comforting me? Tessa is comforting me, assuring me
that everything will be okay, after coming face-to-face with
the girl that I nearly destroyed. She says it will be okay . . .
Will it?
“It never is, though,” I whisper, almost hoping she won’t
hear the words. If she did hear them, she chooses not to
respond.
“I don’t want to go to dinner with them,” I admit, breaking
the silence between us. I really just want to take Tessa upstairs
and lose myself in her, forget all the shit that’s been torturing
my mind all day, push all the ghosts and memories away and
focus on her. I want hers to be the only damn voice in my
head, and burying myself in her right now will ensure that it is.
“We have to—it’s your mother’s wedding weekend. We
don’t have to stay long.” She stretches to kiss the top of my
cheek, then her lips travel down to my jaw.
“I couldn’t be more excited,” I mutter sarcastically.
“Come on.” Tessa leads me back into the living room, her
hand in mine, but the moment we join my mum and Mike, I
drop her hand.
I sigh. “Well, let’s go eat.”
DINNER IS JUST AS TEDIOUS as I expected. My mum is
keeping Tessa busy, chatting her ear off about weddings and
the small guest list. She fills her in in on the family members
that will be there, which isn’t much from my mum’s side; only
one distant cousin will be attending since both of my mum’s
parents are dead and have been for years. Mike is quiet during
the meal, like me, but he doesn’t appear to be as bored as I am.
He’s watching my mum with an expression that makes me
want to smack him in his head. It’s sickening but somehow
comforting. It’s obvious that he loves her, so I guess he’s not
so bad.
“You’re my only shot at grandchildren, Tessa,” my mum
teases as Mike pays the bill. Tessa chokes on her water, and I
pat her on the back. She coughs a few times before
apologizing, but when she recovers, her eyes are wide and she
looks embarrassed. She’s overreacting, but I’m sure she was
caught off guard by my mum’s crass and out-of-line statement.
Sensing my anger, my mum says, “I’m only teasing. I know
you’re still young,” and childishly sticks her tongue out at me.
Young? It doesn’t matter how fucking young we are, she
doesn’t need to be putting that shit in Tessa’s head. We’ve
already agreed: no children. My mum making Tessa feel guilty
and obligated won’t help anything—it’ll only cause another
fight. The majority of our fights have been over children and
marriage. Neither of which I want, or will ever want. I want
Tessa, every single day for the rest of forever, but I won’t be
marrying her. Richard’s warning from the other night creeps
its way into my head, but I push it away.
After dinner, my mum kisses Mike good night, and he
heads to his house next door. She’s following that stupid
tradition of the groom not being able to see the bride before
their wedding night. I think she’s forgotten that this isn’t her
first rodeo; those stupid superstitions don’t apply the second
time around.
As much as I’m dying to take Tessa in my old bed, I can’t
do it with my mum in the house. This shitty place has no
soundproofing, nothing. I can literally hear my mum each time
she rolls over on her creaky mattress in the next room.
“I should have booked a hotel,” I whine as Tessa undresses.
I wish she’d sleep in a parka so I wouldn’t be tormented all
night by her half-naked body. She slips my T-shirt over her
head, and I can’t help but stare at the curve of her tits
underneath the fabric, the slope of her full hips, the way her
voluptuous thighs almost fill the bottom of my shirt so it hugs
to her skin. I’m glad the shirt isn’t too loose on her; it wouldn’t
look nearly as fucking good. It wouldn’t make me this hard,
and it sure as hell wouldn’t make this night so damn long.
“Come here, baby.” I hold my arms open to her, and she
lays her head on my chest. I want to tell her how much it
means to me that she handled the Natalie situation so well, but
I can’t find the right words. I think she knows; she has to
know how terrified I was that something would come between
us.
Within minutes she’s asleep, clinging to me, and the words
flow freely as I run my fingers over her hair.
“You’re everything to me,” I say.
I WAKE UP SWEATING. Tessa is still latched on to me, and I
can barely breathe through the thick air. It’s too hot in this
house. My mum must have turned the damn heat on. It’s
spring now; there’s no need. I unhook Tessa’s limbs from
around my body and wipe her sweat-soaked hair away from
her forehead before walking downstairs to check the
thermostat.
I’m half asleep when I turn the corner to the kitchen, but
what I see next stops me in my tracks. I rub my eyes and even
blink to clear the distorted image that has formed in front of
me.
But it’s still there . . . they are still there no matter how
many times I blink.
My mum is sitting on top of the counter, her thighs parted.
A man stands between them, his arms wrapped around her
waist. Her hands are buried in his blond hair. His mouth is on
hers, or hers on his—I don’t fucking know—what I do know is
that the man isn’t Mike.
It’s fucking Christian Vance.
chapter
one hundred and thirty-six
HARDIN
What? What is happening? For one of the few times in my
life, I find myself speechless. My mum’s hands move from
Vance’s hair down to his jaw, her mouth pushing harder
against his.
I must have made a noise—probably a gasp, I don’t fucking
know—because my mum’s eyes spring open and she
immediately pushes at Vance’s shoulders. His head quickly
turns to me, his eyes go wide, and he steps away from the
counter. How did they not hear me coming down the stairs?
Why is he here, in this kitchen?
What the actual fuck is happening?
“Hardin!” my mum says, her voice high with panic as she
jumps down from the kitchen counter.
“Hardin, I can—” Vance starts. I hold up my hand to
silence them while my mouth and brain work together, trying
to make sense of the fucked-up sight in front of me.
“How . . .” I begin, the jumbled words flying through my
mind not really connecting. “How . . . ?” I repeat, my feet
beginning to move backward. I want to get away from them as
fast as I possibly can, but I need an explanation at the same
time.
I look back and forth between the two of them, trying to
reconcile the people before me with those that I thought I
knew. But I fail to do so, and nothing makes sense.
My heels hit the back of the stairs, and my mum steps
toward me. “It’s not—” she begins.
I’m relieved to feel the familiar burn of anger beginning to
chip away at my shock, sweeping over me and pushing away
any vulnerability that may have been present seconds ago.
Anger I can deal with—I revel in it; shock and stunned
silence, not so much.
I’m walking toward them again before I realize what I’m
doing, and my mum steps back, distancing herself from me,
while Vance steps in front of her. What?
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I interrupt her,
ignoring the selfish tears shining in her eyes. “You’re getting
married tomorrow!”
“And you,” I seethe at my old boss, “you’re fucking
engaged, and here you are about to fuck my mum on the
goddamned kitchen counter!” I lower my hand and strike a
harsh blow to the already damaged countertop. The cracking
sound of the wood splintering excites me, makes me want
more.
“Hardin!” my mum yells.
“Don’t you fucking yell at me!” I nearly scream. I hear the
rush of footsteps above me, a signal that our voices have
woken Tessa up, and I know she’s on her way to find me.
“Don’t talk to your mother like that.” Vance’s voice isn’t
loud, but the threat in his tone is clear.
“You don’t get to tell me what the fuck to do! You’re no
one—who the fuck are you?” My nails dig into my palms, and
my anger grows, gathering into a large mass, ready to explode.
“I’m—” he begins, but my mum’s hand wraps around his
shoulder and pulls him back.
“Christian, don’t,” she begs him.
“Hardin?” Tessa’s voice calls from the stairs, and she enters
the kitchen only seconds later. She looks around the room, at
the unexpected guest first, then her eyes settle on me as she
comes to stand next to me. “Is everything okay?” she nearly
whispers, wrapping her small hand around my arm.
“Everything is just fine! Perfect, really!” I pull my arm out
of her grip and wave it in front of me. “Although you may
want to warn your friend Kimberly that her beloved fiancé has
been shagging my mum.”
Tessa’s eyes nearly fall out onto the floor at my words, but
she remains silent. I wish she’d stayed upstairs, but I know if I
were her, I wouldn’t have either.
“Where is your lovely Kimberly? Staying at a nearby hotel
with your son?” I ask Vance, sarcasm screaming through my
words. I don’t like Kimberly, she’s fucking nosy and
obnoxious, but she loves Vance, and I was under the strong
impression that he was just as much in love with her. Clearly, I
was wrong. He doesn’t give a fuck about her or their
upcoming wedding. If he did, this wouldn’t be happening.
“Hardin, everyone just needs to calm down.” My mum tries
to defuse the situation. Her hand has dropped from Vance’s
shoulder.
“Calm down?” I scoff. She’s unbelievable. “You’re getting
married tomorrow, and I find you here, in the middle of the
night, laid out on the kitchen counter like a whore.”
The moment the words hit the air, he’s on me. Vance’s body
collides with mine, and my head smacks against the tile floor
of the kitchen as he tackles me to the ground.
“Christian!” I hear my mum scream. He uses the weight of
his body to hold me there, but I manage to get my hands out
from under his grip. The moment that his fist connects with
my nose, my adrenaline courses through me, taking me over,
and all I see is red.
chapter
one hundred and thirty-seven
TESSA
Am I dreaming? Please let this be a nightmare . . . what’s
happening surely can’t be real.
Christian is on top of Hardin. When his fist connects with
Hardin’s nose, it makes the most awful sound. The sound
burns my ears, and my heart plummets. Hardin’s fist reaches
up between them, delivering a blow of equal force to
Christian’s jaw, causing Christian’s hold on him to slip.
Within seconds, Hardin rolls from under him and shoves
his shoulders, pushing him back to the floor. I can’t keep track
of how many punches they exchange, and I can’t tell who has
the upper hand.
“Stop them!” I scream to Trish. Every part of me wants to
step between them, knowing that if Hardin sees me he’ll
immediately stop, but the slight fear is there that he may be too
angry, too out of control, and accidently do something that
would later drive him mad with guilt.
“Hardin!” Trish grabs Hardin’s bare shoulder in an attempt
to pull him from the violence, but she goes unnoticed by the
both of them.
Adding to the chaos, the back door is yanked open,
revealing a panicked Mike. Oh God. “Trish? What is—” He
blinks his eyes under his thick glasses as he registers what’s
happening.
Less than a second later, he joins the rumble, stepping
behind Hardin and grabbing him by both of his arms. Large
man that he is, Mike lifts him effortlessly and pushes him
toward the wall. Christian scrambles to his feet, and Trish
pushes him against the opposite wall. Hardin is shaking,
fuming, breathing so heavily that I’m afraid he’ll somehow
damage his lungs. I rush to him, unsure what to do but needing
to be close to him.
“What the hell is going on?” Mike’s voice commands
attention, demands it.
Everything is happening so quickly: the terror in Trish’s
brown eyes, the angry bruises covering Christian’s face, the
deep red trail of blood running from Hardin’s nose to his
mouth . . . it’s all too much.
“Ask them!” Hardin shouts, tiny drops of red splattering
onto his chest. He gestures to a frightened Trish and an angry
Christian.
“Hardin,” I gently say. “Let’s go upstairs,” I reach for his
hand, trying to keep my own emotions at bay. I’m trembling
and I feel the hot tears on my cheeks, but this isn’t about me.
“No!” He jerks away from me. “Tell him! Tell him what
you were fucking doing!” Hardin tries to lunge toward
Christian again, but Mike quickly steps between them. I close
my eyes for a moment, praying that Hardin won’t assault him,
too.
I’m in my old dorm room again, Hardin and Noah on either
side of me, as Hardin forces me to confess my infidelity to the
boy who I spent half of my life with. The look on Noah’s face
wasn’t nearly as heartbreaking as the one I’m looking at right
now. Mike’s expression is a mixture of realization, confusion,
and pain.
“Hardin, please don’t do this,” I beg.
“Hardin,” I repeat, pleading with him not to embarrass this
man. Trish needs to tell him in her own way, not in front of an
audience. This isn’t right.
“Fuck that! Fuck all of you!” Hardin screams, and his fist
drives down against the cheap countertop, snapping it in two.
“I’m sure Mike won’t mind if you two use the premises
tomorrow.” Hardin’s voice lowers; each word is deliberately
measured and cruel. “I’m sure he’d let you, seeing as he
probably wasted a shitload of his money on this joke of a
wedding.” He half laughs.
A chill sets deep in my spine and I stare at the ground.
There’s no stopping him when he’s like this; no one tries.
Everyone is silent as Hardin continues.
“What a nice couple the two of you make. The engaged ex-
wife of a drunk and his loyal best friend,” he scoffs. “I’m
sorry, Mike, but you’re about five minutes late to the show.
You missed the part where your bride had her tongue down his
throat.”
Christian tries to grab hold of Hardin again, but Trish leaps
in front of him. Hardin and Christian eye each other like
panthers.
I’m seeing an entirely new side to Christian. He’s not
playful or witty; anger is radiating from him in thick waves.
The Christian that holds Kimberly by the waist and whispers
how beautiful she is is nowhere to be found.
“You disrespectful little—” Christian says through his
teeth.
“I’m disrespectful? You’re the one going on and on to me
about the glories of marriage, yet you’ve been having an affair
with my mum!”
My mind can’t wrap itself around this. Christian and Trish?
Trish and Christian? It doesn’t make sense. I know they’ve
been friends for many years, and Hardin told me that Christian
had taken Trish and him in, taken care of them, after Ken left.
But an affair?
I never thought of Trish as the type who’d do such a thing,
and Christian has always seemed so deeply in love with
Kimberly. Kimberly . . . My heart aches for her; she loves him
so much. She’s in the middle of planning her dream wedding
with her dream man, and now it’s pretty clear that she doesn’t
know him at all. She’ll be devastated. She has built a life with
Christian and his son. No matter what I have to do, I will not
let Hardin be the one to tell her. I will not let him humiliate
and mock her the way he just did Mike.
“It’s not like that!” Christian’s temper is just as hot as
Hardin’s. His green eyes are glowing, burning with rage, and I
know he wants nothing more than to wrap his hands around
Hardin’s neck.
Mike is silent, his eyes focused on his fiancée and her
tearstained cheeks.
“I’m so sorry, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I don’t know
—” Trish’s voice breaks into a heartbreaking sob, and I look
away.
Mike shakes his head, clearly rejecting her apology, and he
stays silent as he strides across the small kitchen and walks
out, slamming the back door behind him. Trish falls to her
knees, her hands covering her face to muffle her cries.
Christian’s shoulders slump, his anger momentarily
replaced by concern as he kneels next to her, drawing her into
his arms. Next to me, Hardin’s breathing picks up again, his
fists tighten at his sides, and I step in front of him, bringing my
hands to his cheeks. My stomach turns at the sight of the
blood, which has now reached his chin. His lips are stained
crimson . . . so much blood.
“Don’t,” he warns me, pushing my hands away. He’s
staring behind me at his mother, wrapped in Christian’s arms.
The two of them seem to have forgotten that we’re here—
either that or they just don’t care. I’m so confused.
“Hardin, please,” I cry and raise my trembling hands to his
face once more.
He finally looks at me, and I see the guilt rising behind his
eyes.
“Please, let’s go upstairs,” I plead with him. His gaze stays
on my face, and I force myself not to look away from his eyes
as his anger slowly passes.
“Get me away from them,” he stammers. “Get me out of
here.”
I drop my hands and wrap one around his arm, gently
leading him from the kitchen. When we reach the staircase,
Hardin halts.
“No . . . I want to leave this house,” he says.
“Okay,” I quickly agree. I want to leave the house, too. “I’ll
grab our bags; you go out to the car,” I suggest.
“No, if I go out there . . .” He doesn’t have to finish his
sentence. I know exactly what will happen if he’s left alone
with his mother and Christian.
“Come upstairs—it won’t take long,” I promise him. I’m
trying my best to keep calm, to be strong for him, and so far,
it’s working.
He lets me take the lead and follows me up the staircase
and down the hall to the small bedroom. I hastily shove our
things into our bags, not taking the time to pack them properly.
I jump and stifle a scream when Hardin knocks over the
dresser, and the heavy piece of furniture lands with a loud thud
against the floor. Hardin kneels down and pulls out the first
empty drawer. He tosses it to the side before grabbing the next.
He’s going to destroy everything in this room if I don’t get
him out of here.
Just as he flings the last drawer against the wall, I wrap my
arms around his torso. “Come to the bathroom with me.” I lead
him down the hallway and close the door behind us. Grabbing
a towel from the rack, I turn the faucet on and instruct him to
sit on the toilet seat. His silence is chilling and I don’t want to
push him.
He doesn’t speak or even flinch when I bring the hot towel
to his cheek, dragging it across the blood pooled under his
nose, across his lips, and down his chin.
“It’s not broken,” I quietly note after briefly examining his
nose. His busted bottom lip is already swollen but no longer
bleeding. My mind is still racing, flashing angry images of the
two men assaulting each other.
He doesn’t respond.
When most of the blood is removed, I rinse the stained
towel and leave it in the sink. “I’m going to grab our bags.
Stay here,” I say, hoping he’ll listen.
I hurry to the room to gather both of our bags and unzip the
suitcase. Hardin is shirtless and barefoot, wearing only athletic
shorts, and I’m dressed in just his T-shirt. I didn’t have time to
think about getting dressed, or even to be embarrassed about
running downstairs half naked when I heard the shouting. I
didn’t know what I was expecting to find as I raced down the
steps, but Christian and Trish having sex wasn’t one of the
scenarios that I ever could have anticipated.
Hardin remains quiet as I pull a clean T-shirt over his head
and pull socks onto his bare feet. I dress myself in a sweatshirt
and jeans, not giving a thought to my appearance. I rinse my
hands again in the bathroom, trying to scrub the blood from
under my fingernails.
Silence stretches between us as we reach the stairs, and
Hardin takes both bags from me. He hisses in pain when he
lifts the strap of my bag onto his shoulder, and I cringe as I
picture the bruise beneath by his shirt.
I hear Trish’s sobs and Christian’s low voice comforting her
as we exit the house. When we reach the rental car, Hardin
turns around to face the house again, and I watch as a shudder
passes through his shoulders.
“I can drive.” I take the keys, but he quickly pulls them
away from me.
“No, I’m driving,” he finally says. I don’t argue with him.
I want to ask where we’re going, but I choose not to
question him right now; he’s barely coherent and I need to
tread lightly. I place my hand on his, and I’m relieved that he
doesn’t jerk away from my touch.
Minutes feel like hours as we drive through the village in
silence, each mile adding another layer of tension. I stare out
the window and recognize the familiar street from this
afternoon as we pass Susan’s bridal shop. The memory of
Trish wiping away tears, staring at herself in the mirror while
dressed in her gown, brings tears to my own eyes. How could
she do this? She’s supposed to be getting married tomorrow;
why would she do such a thing?
Hardin’s voice snaps me back to the present. “This is so
fucked up.”
“I don’t understand it,” I say, gently squeezing his hand.
“Everything and everyone in my life is so fucked up,” he
says, his voice emotionless.
“I know,” I agree with him; even though I couldn’t disagree
more, now is not the time to correct him.
Hardin slows the car as he pulls into the parking lot of a
small motel. “We’ll stay here tonight and leave in the
morning,” he says, staring out the windshield. “I don’t know
what to say about your job and where you’ll live when we get
back to the States,” he continues, and climbs out of the car.
I was so busy worrying about Hardin and the violent scene
in the kitchen that I momentarily forgot that the man rolling
around on the floor with Hardin was not only my boss, but the
man whose home I’m living in.
“Are you coming?” Hardin asks.
Instead of answering, I step out of the car and follow him
into the motel in silence.
chapter
one hundred and thirty-eight
TESSA
The man behind the desk gives Hardin the key to our room
with a smile that Hardin does not return. I try my best to offer
one to make up for it, but it comes off as forced and awkward,
and the desk clerk looks away quickly.
In silence, we walk through the lobby to find the room. The
hallway is long and narrow; religious paintings line the cream-
colored walls, a handsome angel kneeling before a maiden in
one, two lovers embracing in another. I shudder when my eyes
drag across the last painting, meeting the black eyes of Lucifer
himself right outside of our assigned room. I’m stuck staring
into the empty eyes as I hurry behind Hardin into the room and
flip the light switch, illuminating the dark space. He tosses my
bag onto a wingback chair that sits in a corner and drops the
suitcase by the door next to where I’m standing.
“I’m taking a shower,” he says quietly. Without looking
back, he walks into the bathroom and closes the door behind
him.
I want to follow him, but I’m conflicted. I don’t want to
push him or upset him any more than he already is, but at the
same time I want to make sure he’s okay and I don’t want him
to wallow in this—not alone, at least.
I pull my shoes off, then my jeans and Hardin’s shirt, and
follow him into the small bathroom, completely naked. When I
push the door open, he doesn’t turn around. Steam has already
begun to billow through the small space, filling it, covering
Hardin’s naked body with a cloud of vapor. His tattoos peek
through, the black ink visible through the steam, drawing me
toward him.
I step over the pile of his discarded clothes and stand
behind him, keeping more than a foot of distance between us.
“I don’t need you to—” Hardin begins, his voice flat.
“I know,” I interrupt him. I know he’s angry, hurt, and he’s
beginning to slip back behind the wall that I’ve fought so hard
to demolish. He’s been controlling his anger so well that I
could kill Trish and Christian both for making him lose it that
way.
Surprised by the dark direction my thoughts have taken, I
shake them away.
Without another word, he draws back the shower curtain
and steps into the cascading water. I take a breath, summoning
every ounce of confidence I can muster, and step into the
shower behind him. The water is scalding, barely tolerable,
and I hide behind Hardin to avoid it. He must notice my
discomfort, because he adjusts the water temperature.
I grab the small complimentary bottle of soap and squeeze
it onto a cloth and carefully bring it to Hardin’s back. He
finches and tries to move forward, but I follow him, stepping
closer.
“You don’t have to talk to me, but I know you need me to
be here right now.” My voice is almost a whisper, lost between
Hardin’s deep breaths and the falling water.
Silent and still, he doesn’t move as I brush the cloth across
the letters etched into his skin. My tattoo.
Hardin turns to face me, allowing me to clean his chest
now, his eyes studying every stroke of the cloth. I feel the
anger radiating from of him, mixing with the clouds of hot
vapor, and his eyes are burning into me. He looks as if he’s
going to explode. Before I can blink, both of his hands are
pressed against my jaw, cupping my neck on either side. His
mouth desperately collides against mine, and my lips part
involuntarily under the rough contact. There is nothing gentle,
nothing soft about his touch. My tongue meets his, and I pull
his bottom lip between my teeth, gently tugging, avoiding his
wound. He groans and presses me against the wet tile.
I hear myself whimper when he pulls his mouth from mine,
but he quickly reestablishes contact and peppers rough kisses
down the column of my neck and across my chest, then cups
my breasts, rolling them beneath his busted and bruised hands
while his mouth works back and forth, licking, sucking, biting.
I roll my head back against the tile and bury my fingers in his
hair, tugging the way I know he loves.
Without warning, he lowers his body even further, resting
on his knees under the spraying water, and for a fleeting
moment I’m reminded of something vague. But then he
touches me again, and I just can’t remember what it is.
chapter
one hundred and thirty-nine
HARDIN
Tessa’s fingers rake through my hair, bringing my mouth to
her flushed, already swollen skin. Touching her, tasting her
this way, pushes everything else from my tortured mind.
She cries out as my tongue laps around her, pulling tightly
at the roots of my hair. Her hips lift from the tile, meeting my
mouth, desperate for more.
Too soon, I stand back to my feet and lift one of her legs to
wrap around my waist, following with the other. She groans as
I lift her, entering her slowly.
“Fuuuuck . . .” I draw the word out, my voice almost a hiss
as I’m overwhelmed by the warmth, the wetness, of feeling
her without the barrier of a condom between us.
Her eyes roll back into her head as I push forward,
withdrawing and filling her again. I fight every urge to slam
into her, to fuck her so hard that I forget everything around us.
Instead, I move slowly but allow my mouth and hands to be
rough on her skin. Her arms tighten around my shoulders as
my lips latch on to the skin just above the curve of her full
breast. I can taste the blood rising to the surface underneath
my tongue, and I pull away in time to see the faint pink mark
left in my wake.
Her eyes dart down between us, examining it herself. She
doesn’t scold me or even frown at the bruise left by my lips;
she only brings her lip between her teeth, staring almost
adoringly at the mark. Tessa drags her fingernails down the
slope of my back, and I press her harder against the tile wall.
My fingers are pressed into her thighs, indenting her skin, and
I thrust inside of her, repeating her name over and over.
Her legs tighten around my waist, and I push and pull, in
and out, bringing both of us closer to our release.
“Hardin,” she softly moans, her breathing erratic as she
comes around me. The realization that I can come inside of her
without worry brings me to the edge, pushing me over. I spill
into her with a shout of her name.
“I love you.” I press my lips against her temple before
placing my forehead against hers to catch my breath.
“I love you,” she gasps, her eyes closed. I stay inside of her,
allowing myself to simply enjoy the feeling of skin on skin.
On my back, I can feel the heat leaving the water; we won’t
have more than ten minutes left of hot water. The idea of a
cold shower in the middle of the night causes me to carefully
help her back to her feet. As I withdraw from her, I watch
shamelessly as the evidence of my orgasm seeps from between
her legs. Fucking hell, that sight alone is worth waiting seven
fucking months for.
I want to thank her, to tell her that I love her and that she
brought me out of the darkness, not only tonight, but ever
since the day she caught me off guard by kissing me in my old
room at the frat house, but I can’t find the words.
I turn the hot water up and stare at the wall. I sigh in relief
when I feel the soft washcloth on my back, continuing what
she started only minutes ago.
I turn around to face her, and as she brings the cloth to my
neck, I stay silent. My anger is still around, lurking and
simmering below the surface, but she’s taken me beyond it in
the way that only she can.
chapter
one hundred and forty
TESSA
My mum is so fucked up.” Hardin finally speaks after long
minutes of silence. My hand jerks at the sudden noise, but I
quickly recover and return to bathing him as he continues. “I
mean this is some shit right out of Tolstoy.”
My mind scrambles through Tolstoy’s works before landing
on The Kreutzer Sonata. I shiver despite the heat of the
shower.
“Kreutzer?” I ask, hoping I’m confused or that he and I
have interpreted the dark story differently.
“Yes, of course.” He’s becoming emotionless again,
crouching down behind that damn wall.
“I don’t know if I would compare this . . . situation to
something so dark,” I softly argue. That story is filled with
blood, jealousy, and rage, and I’d like to think this real-life one
will have a better ending.
“Not completely, but yes,” he answers as if he can read my
mind.
I play the story line through my head, trying to see some
connection to Hardin’s mother’s affair, but the only thing I can
come up with has to do with Hardin himself and his beliefs
about marriage. That causes me to shiver again.
“I didn’t plan to ever marry, and I still don’t, so no, it didn’t
change anything,” he coldly responds.
I ignore the pain in my chest and focus on him. “Okay.” I
run the cloth down one arm, then the other, and when I look
up, his eyes are closed.
“Whose story do you suppose we’ll have?” he asks, taking
the cloth from my hand.
“I don’t know,” I answer him honestly. I’d love nothing
more than to know the answer to this question.
“Me neither.” He pours more body wash onto the cloth and
runs it across my chest.
“Couldn’t we make our own story?” I look up into his
troubled eyes.
“I don’t think we can. You know this is going to end one of
two ways,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.
I know he’s hurt and I know he’s angry, but I don’t want
Trish’s mistakes to affect our relationship and I can see Hardin
making comparisons behind the green of his eyes.
I try to take the conversation in another direction. “What is
it about all of this that bothers you the most? It’s that the
wedding is tomorrow . . . well, today,” I correct myself. It’s
almost 4 a.m. now, and the wedding is, or was, supposed to
start at two this afternoon. What happened after we left the
house? Did Mike come back to talk to Trish, or did Christian
and Trish finish what they started?
“I don’t know.” He sighs, dragging the cloth down my
stomach and across my hips. “I don’t really give a fuck about
that wedding. I guess I just feel like they’re both fucking
liars.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
“My mum is the one who’ll be sorry. She’s the one who
sold her fucking house and cheated the night before her damn
wedding.” His touch becomes rough as his anger builds.
I stay quiet but remove the cloth from his hands and hang it
on the rack behind me.
“And Vance, what kind of fucking asshole has an affair
with the ex-wife of his best friend? My father and Christian
Vance have known each other since they were kids.” Hardin’s
tone is bitter—threatening, even. “I should call my father and
see if he knows what a backstabbing whore—”
I reach my hand and cover his mouth before he can finish
the harsh words. “She’s still your mother,” I softly remind
him. I know he’s angry, but he shouldn’t call her names.
I remove my hand from his mouth so he can speak. “I don’t
give a fuck that she’s my mother, and I don’t give a fuck about
Vance either. And the joke’s going to be on him, because when
I tell Kimberly about them and you quit your job, he’ll be
fucked,” Hardin proudly declares, as if this would be the best
form of revenge.
“You will not tell Kimberly.” I look into his eyes, pleading.
“If Christian doesn’t tell her himself, then I will, but you will
not embarrass her or harass her about it. I understand that
you’re angry at your mother and at Christian, but Kimberly is
innocent here, and I don’t want her to be hurt,” I say firmly.
“Fine. You will quit, though,” he says while turning his
body around to rinse the foamy shampoo from his hair.
Sighing, I reach for the shampoo bottle in Hardin’s hand
but he pulls it away.
“I’m serious, you aren’t working for him anymore.”
I understand his anger, but this isn’t the time to discuss my
job. “We’ll talk about it later,” I tell him and finally manage to
get the bottle into my hands. The water is growing colder by
the minute, and I’d like to wash my hair.
“No!” He jerks it back. I’m trying to stay calm and be as
gentle as possible with him, but he’s making it difficult.
“I can’t just quit my internship; it’s not that simple. I’d have
to inform the university, fill out a bunch of paperwork, and
give a solid explanation of what happened. Then I would have
to add classes to my schedule in the middle of the semester to
make up for the credits I was receiving from Vance Publishing,
and since the deadline for financial aid has already passed, I’d
have to pay out of pocket. I can’t simply just quit. I’ll try to
figure something out, but I need a little time, please.” I give up
on washing my hair.
“Tessa, I literally couldn’t give less than a fuck about you
having to file some paperwork; this is my family,” he says, and
I immediately feel guilty.
He’s right, isn’t he? I honestly don’t know, but his busted
lip and bruised nose make me feel that way. “I know, I’m
sorry. I just need to find another internship first, that’s all I’m
asking.” Why am I asking? “I mean saying . . . that’s what I’m
saying . . . that I need a little time. I’m already going to have to
move into a hotel as it is . . .” The anxiety I feel at the prospect
of being homeless, jobless, and once again friendless is taking
me over.
“You won’t be able to find another internship anyway, not a
paying one,” he harshly reminds me. I knew that already, but I
was trying to force myself into believing that I had a slight
chance.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I need some time.
This is all such a mess.” I step out of the shower and reach for
a towel.
“Well, you don’t have much time to figure it out. You
should just move back to central Washington with me.” His
words stop me in my tracks.
“Move back there?” The very idea of it makes me
nauseous. “I’m not moving back there, and after last weekend,
I don’t even want to visit the place again, let alone move back.
That isn’t an option.” I wrap the towel around my wet body
and leave the bathroom.
I reach for my phone and panic when I see five missed calls
and two text messages. All from Christian. Both text messages
are pleas to have Hardin call him right away.
“Hardin,” I call to him.
“What?” he snaps. I roll my eyes and swallow my
annoyance. “Christian has called, a lot.”
He emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped
around his waist. “And?”
“What if something happened to your mother? Don’t you
want to call and be sure she’s okay?” I ask him. “Or I—”
“No, fuck both of them. Don’t call them.”
“Hardin, I really think—”
“No,” he says, interrupting me.
“I already sent him a text, just to be sure your mother is
okay,” I admit.
He grimaces. “Of course you did.”
“I know you’re upset, but please stop taking it out on me.
I’m really trying to be here for you, but you have to stop
snapping at me. This isn’t my fault.”
“I’m sorry.” His hands run over his wet hair. “Let’s both
just turn our cell phones off and get some sleep.” His voice has
calmed, and his eyes have softened tremendously. “My shirt is
stained,” he says, dragging the bloodied garment across the
floor, “and I don’t know where the other one is.”
“I’ll get it from the suitcase.”
“Thank you.” He sighs. The fact that he finds so much
comfort in me wearing his clothing makes me happy, even in
the middle of this disastrous night. I retrieve the shirt he wore
earlier today and hand him clean boxers to sleep in before
refolding the articles in the suitcase.
“I’m going to change our flight when I wake up. I can’t
concentrate right now.” He sits on the edge of the bed for a
moment before lying down.
“I can do it,” I offer, pulling his laptop from the suitcase.
“Thanks,” he grumbles, half asleep already.
Seconds later he mutters, “I wish I could take you away, far
away.” My hands are still on the keyboard and I wait for him
to say something else, but he breaks into soft snores.
As I pull up the airline’s website, my phone vibrates on the
table. Christian’s name comes up on the screen. I ignore the
call, but when a second comes in, I grab the room key and
quietly retreat to the hallway to answer.
I try to whisper. “Hello.”
“Tessa? How is he?” he asks, panicked.
“He’s . . . he’s okay. His nose is bruised and swollen, his lip
is busted, and he has a few bruises and cuts.” I don’t hide the
hostility in my tone.
“Dammit,” he breathes. “I’m so sorry that it came to this.”
“Me, too,” I snap at my boss and try to ignore the hideous
painting in front of my eyes.
“I need to talk to him. I know he’s confused and angry, but
I need to explain some things to him.”
“He doesn’t want to talk to you, and honestly, why should
he? He trusted you, and you know that his trust is not
something he gives lightly.” I lower my voice. “You’re
engaged to a lovely woman and Trish was supposed to be
getting married tomorrow.”
“She’s still getting married,” he says through the line.
“What?” I walk farther down the hall. I stop in front of the
peaceful painting of the kneeling angel, but the more I look at
it, the darker it becomes. Behind the angel is another; this
second one’s body almost translucent, and he’s holding a
double-edged dagger in his hand. The brown-haired maiden is
watching him, a sinister smile on her face as she seems to wait
for the assault on the kneeling angel. The second angel’s
expression is contorted, his naked body all planes and angles
as he prepares to stab the first angel. I look away and focus on
the voice on the other end of the line.
“The wedding has not been canceled. Mike loves Trish, and
she loves him; they will still be married tomorrow despite my
mistake.” The words sound as if he’s struggling to get them
out.
I have so many questions to ask him, but I can’t. He’s my
boss and his affair is with Hardin’s mother; this is none of my
business.
“I know what you must think of me, Tessa, but if I’m able
to explain myself, maybe you both will understand.”
“Hardin wants me to change our flight and leave in the
morning,” I inform him.
“He can’t leave without saying goodbye to his mother. It
will kill her.”
“I don’t think it’s in the best interest of anyone to allow him
to be in the same room as her,” I warn and walk back to the
room, stopping just outside the door.
“I understand your need to protect him, and it pleases me
greatly to see how fiercely loyal you are to him. But Trish has
had a hard enough life as it is, and it’s time for her to have
some happiness. I don’t expect him to show for the wedding,
but please do what you can to have him at least say goodbye to
her. God knows how long it will be before he comes back to
England.” Christian sighs.
“I don’t know.” I run my fingers along the bronze frame of
the Lucifer painting. “I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t
promise anything. I won’t push him.”
“I understand. Thank you.” The relief in his voice is clear.
“Christian?” I say just before hanging up.
“Yes, Tessa?”
“Will you tell Kimberly?” I hold my breath and wait for his
answer to my highly inappropriate question.
“Of course I’ll tell her,” he softly responds, his accent thick
and smooth. “I love her more than—”
“Okay.” I’m trying to understand, but the only image that’s
coming to mind is Kimberly smiling in their kitchen, her head
tipped back in laughter and Christian’s eyes sparkling as he
watches her in amazement, as if she’s the only woman in his
world. Does he look at Trish that way?
“Thank you. Let me know if you need anything. Again, I’m
sorry for what you saw earlier, and I hope that your opinion of
me hasn’t been completely destroyed,” he says and hangs up
the phone.
I take one last glance at the hideous monster on the wall
and walk back into the hotel room.
chapter
one hundred and forty-one
HARDIN
Where are you?” His angry voice booms down the hall,
creeping into the kitchen. The front door slams, and I jump
down from the kitchen chair, grabbing my book. My shoulder
knocks into the bottle on the table, sending it crashing to the
ground into too many pieces. The brown liquid covers the
floor, and I hurry to hide it before he finds me and sees what I
did.
“Trish! I know you’re here!” He yells again. His voice is
closer now. My small hands pull the towel from the stove and
throw it onto the floor to cover the mess I made.
“Where’s your mum?”
I jerk back at the sound of his voice. “She’s . . . she’s not
here,” I tell him, standing to my feet.
“What the fuck did you do?” he shouts, pushing past me
and seeing the big mess I made. I didn’t mean to make the
mess. I knew he would be angry.
“That bottle of scotch was older than you,” he says. I look
up to his red face and he stumbles. “You broke my fucking
bottle.” My dad’s voice is slow. It always sounds like this when
he comes home lately.
I back away, taking small steps. If I can just get to the
stairs, I can get away. He’s too drunk to follow me. He fell
down them last time.
“What’s that?” His angry eyes focus on my book.
I hug it tighter to my chest. No. Not this one, too.
“Come here, boy.” He circles around me.
“Please don’t,” I beg the man as he rips my favorite book
from my hands. Miss Johnson says that I’m a good reader,
better than anyone else in fifth year.
“You broke my bottle, so I get to break something of
yours.” He smiles. I back away as he tears the book in two and
rips out the pages. I cover my ears and watch as Gatsby and
Daisy float around the room in a white storm. He grabs some
of the pages in the air and rips them into small pieces.
I can’t be a baby, I can’t cry. It’s just a book. It’s just a book.
My eyes are burning, but I’m not a baby, so I can’t cry.
“You’re just like him, you know? With your stupid fucking
books,” he slurs.
Just like who? Jay Gatsby? He doesn’t read as much as me.
“She thinks I’m stupid, but I’m not.” He grabs the back of
the chair to keep from falling. “I know what she did.”
Suddenly his face goes still, and I think my dad is going to cry.
“Clean up this shit,” he groans and leaves me alone in the
kitchen, kicking the binding of my book as he leaves.
“HARDIN! HARDIN, WAKE UP!” A voice calls me from my
mum’s kitchen. “Hardin, it’s only a dream. Please wake up.”
When my eyes fly open, I’m met with worried eyes and an
unfamiliar-looking ceiling above my head. It takes me a
moment to realize that I’m not in my mum’s kitchen after all.
There’s no spilled scotch or ripped-up novel.
“I’m so sorry for leaving you in here alone. I just went to
get some breakfast. I didn’t think—” Her voice breaks off into
a sob, and she wraps her arms around my sweat-covered back.
“Shh . . .” I smooth her hair. “I’m fine.” I blink a few times.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she quietly asks.
“No, I can’t even remember it, really,” I tell her. The dream
has turned blurry, fading out more with each stroke of her
hand across the bare skin between my shoulder blades.
I let her hold me for a few minutes before breaking away. “I
got breakfast for you,” she says, wiping her nose with the
sleeve of my sweatshirt she’s wearing. “Sorry.” She smiles
shyly, holding the snot-covered sleeve up in front of me.
I can’t help but laugh, my nightmare forgotten. “There have
been worse things on that sweatshirt,” I cheekily remind her,
trying to make her laugh. My thoughts travel back to when she
jacked me off in the apartment while I was wearing said
sweatshirt, and quite the mess was made.
Her cheeks flush, and I reach for the tray of food next to
her. She has piled it high with different types of bread, fruit,
cheese, and even a small box of Frosted Flakes.
“I had to fight an old woman for that.” She grins, nodding
toward the cereal.
“You did no such thing,” I tease her as she brings a grape to
her lips.
“I would have,” she insists.
The mood has shifted drastically since our arrival in the
middle of the night. “Did you change the flight?” I ask her and
tear into the Frosted Flakes, not bothering to pour them into
the small bowl she put on the tray.
“I wanted to talk about that with you.” Her voice lowers.
She didn’t change the flight. I sigh and wait for her to finish.
“I talked to Christian last night . . . well, this morning.”
“What? Why? I told you—” I stand up, knocking the cereal
box onto the tray.
“I know you did, but just hear me out,” she begs.
“Fine.” I sit back on the bed and wait for her explanation.
“He said he’s really sorry and that he needs to explain all of
this to you. I understand if you don’t want to hear it. If you
don’t want to talk to either of them, Christian or your mother,
I’ll get online and change the flight now. I just wanted to give
you the option first. I know you care for him . . .” Her eyes
begin to water again.
“I don’t,” I assure her.
“Do you want me to change the tickets?” she asks.
“Yes,” I tell her. She frowns and leans over to lift my laptop
from the nightstand next to the bed. “What else did he say?” I
ask hesitantly. It doesn’t matter, but I’m curious.
“The wedding is still on,” she informs me.
What the fuck?
“And he says he’s going to tell Kimberly everything and
that he loves her more than his own life.” Tessa’s bottom lip
begins to tremble at the mention of her betrayed friend.
“Mike is fucking stupid, then—maybe he does belong with
my mum after all.”
“I don’t know what made him forgive her so quickly, but he
did.” Tessa pauses and looks at me like she’s trying to gauge
my mood. “Christian asked me to have you at least say
goodbye to your mother before we leave. He knows you won’t
go to the wedding, but he wants you to tell her goodbye.” She
rushes the words.
“Hell, no. No fucking way. I’m getting dressed and we’re
getting the fuck out of this shithole.” I wave my hand around
the overly expensive motel room.
“Okay,” she agrees.
That was easy. Too easy. “What do you mean, okay?” I ask
her.
“Nothing. I just meant okay. I understand if you don’t want
to say goodbye to your mom.” She shrugs her shoulders and
tucks her messy hair behind both ears.
“You do?”
“Yes.” She smiles a weak smile. “I know I’m hard on you
sometimes, but I’m going to support you on this. You’re
completely justified here.”
“Okay,” I say, more than a little relieved. I thought she’d
fight me and even try to force me to go to the wedding. “I
can’t wait to go back.” I rub my fingers over my temples.
“Yeah, me, too,” Tessa weakly replies.
Where the fuck is she going to live? After what happened
here she can’t just go back to Vance’s house, but she won’t
come to my place either. I don’t know what she’s going to do,
but I do know that I want to rip Vance’s fucking head from his
body for making her return to the States complicated.
I wish I could get her a job with me at Bolthouse, but it’s
impossible. She’s not even a sophomore, and paying
internships at publishing houses don’t come along every day,
even to graduates. There’s no way she’ll find another,
especially in Seattle, not until she’s further along in her
degree, or even finished with it.
I take the laptop from her hands to finish the task of
changing our flight. I shouldn’t have agreed to come to the UK
in the first place. Vance talked me into bringing Tessa, only to
ruin the entire damn trip himself.
“I just need to get the stuff from the bathroom and we can
head to the airport,” Tessa says, tucking my dirty clothes into
the top pocket of the suitcase. A defeated-looking frown
covers her face, and her brows are drawn together. I want to
smooth away the deep worry line between them. I hate the
way her shoulders are slumped, and I know without a doubt
that they’re bearing the burden of my troubles. I love Tessa
and I love her compassion; I just wish she wouldn’t carry my
problems along with her own. I can carry my problems myself.
“Are you all right?” I ask her. She looks up and plasters the
most unconvincing smile onto her face that I’ve ever seen.
“Yeah, are you?” she asks back, her worry line deepening.
“Not if you aren’t. Tessa. Don’t worry about me.”
“I’m not,” she lies.
“Tess . . .” I cross the room and stand in front of her, pulling
the shirt from her hands that I’ve just watched her fold at least
ten times within the last two minutes. “I’m fine, okay? I’m still
pissed off and shit, but I know you’re worried that I’m going
to snap. I won’t.” I look down at my busted hands. “Well, not
again, anyway.” I correct myself with a small laugh.
“I know. It’s just that you’ve been controlling your anger so
well, and I don’t want anything to jeopardize your progress.”
“I know.” I run my hand over my hair and try to think
clearly without getting angry.
“I’m really proud of you already, for how you handled that
situation. Christian was the one who attacked you,” she says.
“Come here.” I hold my arms out, and she graciously steps
into them, nuzzling her face into my chest. “Even if he hadn’t
come at me, the fight still would have happened. I know I’d
have made the first move if he hadn’t,” I tell her. My hands
move under the hem of her shirt, and she flinches at the
coldness of my touch against the warm skin of her back.
“I know,” she agrees.
“Since you’re off until Wednesday, we’ll stay at my father’s
house until you—” The vibrating of her cell phone interrupts
me.
Both of our eyes dart to the table. “I won’t answer it,” she
announces.
I let go of Tessa and grab her phone. Looking at the screen,
I take a breath before answering. “Stop fucking harassing
Tessa; if you want to talk to me, then you can call me. Don’t
bring her into this shit,” I say before he can even say hello.
“I did call you. You shut your phone off,” Christian says.
“And why do you think that is?” I huff. “If I wanted to talk
to you, I would have, but since I don’t, stop fucking bothering
me.”
“Hardin, I know you’re mad, but we need to talk about
this.”
“There isn’t anything to talk about!” I shout. Tessa watches
with worried eyes as I try to control my temper.
“Yes, there is. There’s a lot to talk about. All I’m asking for
is fifteen minutes.” His voice is pleading.
“Why should I talk with you?”
“Because I know you feel betrayed and I want to explain
myself. You’re important to me, and to your mom,” he says.
“So now you two are forming some kind of united front
against me? Fuck off.” My hands are shaking.
“You can act like you don’t give a fuck about either of us,
but your anger shows that you do.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and have to stop myself
from smashing it into pieces against the wall.
“Fifteen minutes,” I hear him repeat. “The wedding isn’t
scheduled to begin for a few hours. All the men are meeting
for lunch at Gabriel’s bar. You should meet me there.”
I bring the phone to my ear again. “You want me to meet
you at a bar? Are you fucking stupid?” A drink sounds good
right about now . . . the burn of hot whiskey on my tongue . . .
“Not to drink, only to talk. A public place would be the best
spot for us to meet, for obvious reasons.” He sighs. “We can
meet somewhere else if you want.”
“No, Gabriel’s is fine,” I agree. Tessa’s eyes go wide, and
she tilts her head slightly, obviously confused by my change of
heart. It’s not affection that makes me want to hear him out;
it’s purely curiosity. He claims that there’s an explanation for
all of this, and I want to hear it. Otherwise, my barely existent
relationship with my mum won’t exist at all.
“Okay . . .” I can tell he didn’t expect me to agree. “It’s
noon now. I’ll meet you there at one.”
“Sure,” I snap. I don’t know how this little meeting could
possibly not end in blows.
“You should bring Tessa by Heath—that’s where Kim and
Smith will be. It’s only a few miles from Gabriel’s, and
Kimberly could really use a friend right now.” I want to laugh
at the note of shame in his voice. Fucking asshole.
“Tessa will be coming with me,” I tell him.
“Do you really want to bring her into a potentially violent
situation . . . again?” he asks.
Yes. Yes, I do. No, I don’t. I don’t want to be out of her
sight, but she’s seen enough violence from me to last a
lifetime.
“You’re only saying that because you want her to comfort
your fiancée after you fucking cheated on her,” I growl.
“No.” Vance pauses. “I just want to talk to you alone, and I
don’t think it would be especially wise of us to have either
woman present.”
“Fine. I’ll fucking meet you in an hour.” I hang up the
phone and turn to Tessa. “He wants you to hang out with Kim
while we talk.”
“Does she know?” she quietly asks.
“Sounds like it.”
“Are you sure you want to meet with him? I don’t want you
to feel like you have to.”
“Do you think I should?” I ask her.
After a moment, she nods. “Yes. I do.”
“Then I’ll meet him.” I pace across the room.
Tessa gets up from the bed and wraps her arms around my
waist. “I love you, so much,” she says against my bare chest.
“I love you.” I’ll never tire of hearing her say the words.
WHEN SHE STEPS out of the bathroom, I nearly choke on
my breath. “Fuck.” I cross the room in three steps.
“Does this look okay?” she asks, turning in a slow circle.
“Um, yeah.” I nearly choke again. Okay? Is she fucking
insane? The white dress that she wore to my father’s wedding
looks even better on her now than it did then.
“I could barely zip it.” She smiles, embarrassed. She turns
around and lifts her hair off of her back. “Can you zip the
rest?”
I love that I’ve seen every inch of her hundreds of times,
yet her cheeks still flush and she still holds on to some of her
innocence. I haven’t completely tainted her.
“Have you changed your mind? I don’t want you to be
uncomfortable.” Tessa’s voice is soft.
“Yes, I’m sure. All I’m doing is giving him fifteen minutes
to listen to whatever bullshit he has to say.” I sigh. I sure as
hell don’t want to go anywhere except to the damn airport, but
after seeing the look on her face while she repacked that
suitcase, I felt like I had to do this—not only for her, but for
myself, too.
“I look like a fucking bum next to you,” I tell her, and she
smiles, her eyes running over my face and body.
“Please!” She laughs. I look down at my black shirt and
ripped jeans. “You could have shaved,” she comments with a
smile. I can tell she’s nervous and she’s trying to lighten the
mood. I couldn’t be further from nervous . . . I just want to get
this shit over with.
“You like this.” I take her hand and rub it along the stubble
on my jaw. “Especially between your legs.” I bring her hand to
my mouth and kiss her fingertips. She jerks her hand away as I
wrap my lips around her index finger, and swats at my chest.
“You never stop,” she playfully scolds me, and for a
moment I forget about all of the bullshit.
“Nope, and I never will.” I reach around to squeeze her ass
with both hands, and she yelps.
The drive to Hampstead Heath, where Kimberly and Smith
are staying, and to the park where we’re meeting her, is nerve-
racking. Tessa picks at her painted fingernails in the passenger
seat and stares out the window.
“What if he didn’t tell her? Should I?” she finally says as I
pull through the gate. Despite her worry, I watch as her eyes
take in the scenic view of the park. “Wow,” she says, sounding
many years younger than her age.
“I knew you’d like the Heath,” I say.
“It’s beautiful. How could someplace like this be in the
middle of London?” She gapes at the surrounding landscape,
one of the few places in the city that haven’t been polluted by
smog and office towers.
“There she is . . .” I drive slowly toward the blonde who’s
sitting on a bench. Smith is sitting on another bench about
twenty feet away with a piece of a toy train on his lap. That
little boy is so weird.
“If you need anything at all, please call me. I’ll find my
way to you,” Tessa promises before getting out of the car.
“Same to you.” I gently pull her across the console to kiss
her. “I mean it. If anything goes wrong, call me immediately,”
I tell her.
“I’m more worried for you,” she whispers against my lips.
“I’ll be fine. Now go tell your friend how big of a shitbag
her fiancé is.” I kiss her again.
She frowns at me but stays quiet as she leaves the car and
walks across the grass to meet Kimberly.
chapter
one hundred and forty-two
TESSA
I try to gather my thoughts as I cross the grass to meet
Kimberly. I don’t know what to say to her, and I’m terrified
that she may not be aware of what happened last night. I don’t
want to be the one to tell her—that’s Christian’s responsibility
—but I don’t think I have it in me to pretend like nothing
happened if it turns out that she doesn’t know.
My question is immediately answered when she turns
around to face me. Her eyes, though covered mostly in
shadows, are swollen and sad.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. I sit down next to her on the bench,
and she wraps her arms around me.
“I would cry, but I’m afraid I’m all dried up.” She tries to
force a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes.
“I don’t know what to say,” I admit, glancing across the
way at Smith, who, thankfully, is out of earshot.
“Well, you can start with helping me plan a double
murder.” Kimberly gathers her shoulder-length hair in one
hand and pushes it to the side.
“I can do that.” I half laugh. I wish I had even half of
Kimberly’s strength.
“Good.” She smiles and squeezes my hand. “You look
really hot today,” she tells me.
“Thank you. You look beautiful,” I tell her. Bright sunlight
breaking through the overcast makes her pale blue beaded
dress glitter.
“Are you going to the wedding?” she asks.
“No, I just wanted to look better than I’m feeling,” I reply.
“Are you going to the wedding?”
“Yeah, I am.” She sighs. “I don’t know what I’ll do
afterward, but I don’t want to confuse Smith. He’s a smart kid,
and I don’t want to alert him to anything that’s going on.” Her
eyes focus on the little scientist and his train.
“Besides, Sasha’s skanky ass is here with Max, and I’ll be
damned if I give her something to gossip about.”
“Sasha came here with Max? What about Denise and
Lillian?” Max’s treachery knows no bounds.
“Exactly what I said! She has no shame, coming all the way
to England to attend a wedding with a married man. I should
beat the hell out of her to get some of this anger out.”
Kimberly is so tense you can practically see it emanating from
her. I can’t imagine the pain she must be feeling right now, and
I admire the way she’s holding herself together.
“Are you . . . I don’t want to pry, but—”
“Tessa, all I do is pry. You’re allowed to, too,” she says
with a warm smile.
“Are you going to stay with him? If you don’t want to talk
about it, we don’t have to.”
“I do want to talk about it. I have to talk about it, because if
I don’t, then I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay as angry as I
am.” She grits her teeth. “I don’t know if I’ll stay with him. I
love him, Tessa.” She looks at Smith again. “And I love that
little boy, even if he only talks to me once a week.” She laughs
weakly. “I wish I could say that I’m surprised by this, but
honestly, I’m not.”
“Why aren’t you?” I ask without thinking.
“They have history, a long, deep history that I’m just not
sure if I can compete with.” Hurt fills her voice, and I blink
back my tears.
“History?”
“Yes. I’m going to tell you something Christian told me not
to tell you until he can tell Hardin, but I think you should
know . . .”
chapter
one hundred and forty-three
HARDIN
Gabriel’s is a pretentious bar set in the middle of the
wealthiest section in Hampstead. Of course he’d choose this
place to meet me. I park my rental car in the lot and walk
toward the door. When I step inside the stuffy place, my eyes
scan the room. Seated at a round table in the corner of the bar
are Vance, Mike, Max, and that blonde. Why the fuck is she
here? And more importantly, why is Mike sitting next to Vance
as if he wasn’t on the verge of fucking his fiancée less than
twelve hours ago?
Everyone in the place is wearing a damn tie, except me. I
hope I trailed dirt in behind me. A hostess tries to speak to me
as I pass her, but I brush her off.
“Hardin, nice to see you.” Max stands first and puts his
hand out to shake. I ignore him.
“You wanted to talk—let’s talk,” I snap at Vance when I
reach the table. He brings his glass, filled to the brim with
liquor, to his mouth and gulps it down before standing.
Mike’s eyes stay focused on the table and it takes all of my
strength not to tell him how fucking stupid he is. He’s always
been a quiet man, the dependable neighbor that my mum
would always pester for milk or eggs when she ran out.
“How’s your trip going so far?” Sabrina’s voice rings out. I
look at her, dumbfounded that she would even speak to me
right now.
“Where’s your wife?” I glare at Max. Next to him, the
blonde’s smile drops from her overly made-up face and she
starts swirling her empty martini glass in small circles.
“Hardin . . .” Vance says, daring to try to shut me up.
“Fuck off,” I bark at him. He stands to his feet. “I’m sure
she and her daughter miss him while he’s here parading
around with a skan—”
“Enough,” he says and he gently grabs me by the arm in an
attempt to get me away from the table.
I jerk my arm from his grip. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”
Stephanie’s shrill “Hey!” cuts through my growing anger.
“That’s no way to treat your father, now, is it?”
How fucking stupid is she? My father is back in
Washington. “What?”
Her smile grows. “You heard me. You should really treat
your old man with more respect.”
“Sasha!” Max grabs her thin arm with brutal force, nearly
dragging her to her feet.
“Oops, did I say something I wasn’t supposed to?” Her
laugh rings through the bar. She’s a fucking idiot.
Confused, I look at Mike, who has no color left in his round
face. He looks like he could pass out at any moment. My mind
begins to shift, and I look over at Vance, who is equally pale
and nervously shifting from one foot to the other.
Why are they being so dramatic over some dumb chick’s
random nonsense?
“You shut up, now.” Max removes the woman from the
table and practically drags her through the bar.
“She wasn’t supposed to—” Vance runs his hand over his
hair. “I was going to . . .” He balls his fists at his sides.
She wasn’t supposed to what? Make some stupid comment
about Vance being my father when clearly my father is . . .
I look at the panicked man in front of me, his green eyes on
fire, his fingers frantically running over his hair . . .
It takes me a moment to realize that my hands are doing the
exact same thing.
acknowledgments
I can’t believe I’m writing acknowledgments for the third
book already! Time has literally flown, wings and all, away
from me, and I’m so grateful for this crazy ride. I have so
many people in my life worth thanking, and I’m going to try
and fit as many as I can here.
First, my readers and loyal Afternators. You guys never fail
to amaze me with your support and love. You show up in
numbers to every event I have, you tweet me about your day,
you care about mine, and you are always my cyber-sidekicks
everywhere I go. I feel as if we have this bond beyond the
typical reader/writer relationship where we are more than that,
more than friends, even. We are family, and I could never
thank you enough for being there for me and for each other.
We have one more book to go in this series, and I hope you
feel the sense of pride and ownership as you always have. I
love you all so freaking much, and you mean the world to me.
Adam Wilson, my superhero of an editor at Gallery. We
have gotten through so much work together, and we’ve been a
steam train at getting these books done at a super speed, with
you making it “easy” for me. You teach me to be a better
writer through your comments and jokes, and you get my
sense of humor. I was afraid at first to have a “big, bad editor,”
but you’ve been everything I could have hoped for! Thank
you!
Ashleigh Gardner, you have become a very close friend to
me. I’ve said this before, but honestly, you’re the type of
woman I look up to. You’re strong and fierce, but so sweet and
silly at the same time. You always have excellent book
recommendations, and you take me to strange food places and
don’t make me feel stupid for needing a fork to eat ceviche or
when I don’t understand something (un-food-related, too—
haha). I really just admire you a lot, and I’m so happy for your
new marriage, and I want to thank you for everything.
Candice Faktor, since we met, we had so much in common
to the point where it was creepy. I knew instantly that you and
Amy were my type of people, and I was so relieved when you
turned out to be awesome. I love the way you speak about
everything so passionately—we are alike in that way as well.
You are always so genuine and so organic, and I’m just
thankful to be working with you and consider you a friend.
Nazia Khan, thank you for helping me learn to speak in
public and make it through an interview without becoming a
total disaster. You always make things fun, and you only get a
little mad at me when I give people my email address without
telling you first (haha). You’re a good friend to me now, too,
and we are getting ready to go to AMA’s (in actual life, not
when you’re reading this), and I’m so, so happy you are the
one to come with me! Thanks for everything!
Caitlin, Zoe, Nick, Danielle, Kevin (both of you), Tarun,
Rich, everyone at Wattpad—you guys are beyond a doubt the
best team imaginable. I know none of you signed on to
Wattpad thinking you would have to do so much for After and
for me, and I want to thank you for welcoming me into the
family and helping me with everything After-related and some
things not. I can’t wait to see what the future brings all of us!
You guys are the most creative, most daring and fun group,
and I care so much for all of you. Thank you for all the laughs,
Nick’s picture taking, the wine drinking, the rainy but super-
awesome condo crawl, and the massive amounts of food that
seem to be there every time I visit.
Allen and Ivan, without Wattpad I wouldn’t have found
myself, so thank you for creating one of the most important
things in my life. I know others share this sentiment as well.
Kristin Dwyer, thank you for making me laugh and calling
me “dude” all the time. I’m so happy to work with you and
appreciate all the hours of work you put into me. I really love
you and your humor, your hard work, how you make me
remember that the good always overcomes the bad, and
everything else you do for me!
Everyone at Gallery who has welcomed me, the
inexperienced, overly fangirlish, weirdo author who mostly
has no idea what she’s doing but loves doing it! I appreciate all
of the work you all do for this project, from the sales team to
the production team. Jen Bergstrom and Louise Burke, for
letting Adam sign me up. Martin Karlow, I know you’ve
worked so hard on this, and I’m grateful for that! Steve
Breslin, as Adam says, “You keep this train somewhat on
track!”
Christina and Lo, you two have been great mentors and
friends to me, and I love you both!
To all the Tessas and Hardins in the world who love fiercely
and make mistakes along the way.
All of my friends and family who have supported me since
I let the cat out of the bag that I just happened to, you know,
write four books without them knowing. I love you all.
Last but not least, my Jordan. You are everything to me,
and I can’t thank you enough for being my rock this last year
and the many before. We are so lucky to have found each other
so early in life, and it’s been the best adventure growing up
with you. You make me laugh and make me want to murder
you (not actually, because I would sort of miss you,
sometimes). I love you.
AUTHOR PHOTOGRAPH BY J.D. WITKOWSKI
ANNA TODD is a first-time writer spending her days in
the Austin area with her husband, with whom she beat
half the statistics by getting married one month after
graduating high school. Between her husband’s three
deployments to Iraq, she worked odd jobs from a
makeup counter to the IRS processing center. Anna was
always an avid reader and boy band and romance lover,
so now that she’s found a way to combine the three,
she’s enjoying living a real-life dream come true.
Find her at AnnaToddBooks.com, on Twitter at
@imaginator1dx, on Instagram at @imaginator1d, and
on Wattpad as Imaginator1D.
FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR: authors.simonandschuster.com/Anna-
Todd
MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT
SimonandSchuster.com
Facebook.com/GalleryBooks
@GalleryBooks
Wattpad.com/After
ALSO BY ANNA TODD
After
After We Collided
After Ever Happy
Gallery Books
A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or
real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are
products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or
places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Anna Todd
The author is represented by Wattpad.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in
any form whatsoever. For information, address Gallery Books Subsidiary Rights
Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First Gallery Books trade paperback edition December 2014
GALLERY BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster,
Inc.
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For
more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers
Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.
Interior design by Davina Mock-Maniscalco
Cover design by Damonza
Cover image © Ase/Shutterstock
Infinity symbol courtesy of Grupo Planeta, Art Department
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
ISBN 978-1-4767-9250-7
ISBN 978-1-4767-9256-9 (ebook)
contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Eighty
Chapter Eighty-One
Chapter Eighty-Two
Chapter Eighty-Three
Chapter Eighty-Four
Chapter Eighty-Five
Chapter Eighty-Six
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Chapter Eighty-Eight
Chapter Eighty-Nine
Chapter Ninety
Chapter Ninety-One
Chapter Ninety-Two
Chapter Ninety-Three
Chapter Ninety-Four
Chapter Ninety-Five
Chapter Ninety-Six
Chapter Ninety-Seven
Chapter Ninety-Eight
Chapter Ninety-Nine
Chapter One Hundred
Chapter One Hundred and One
Chapter One Hundred and Two
Chapter One Hundred and Three
Chapter One Hundred and Four
Chapter One Hundred and Five
Chapter One Hundred and Six
Chapter One Hundred and Seven
Chapter One Hundred and Eight
Chapter One Hundred and Nine
Chapter One Hundred and Ten
Chapter One Hundred and Eleven
Chapter One Hundred and Twelve
Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen
Chapter One Hundred and Fourteen
Chapter One Hundred and Fifteen
Chapter One Hundred and Sixteen
Chapter One Hundred and Seventeen
Chapter One Hundred and Eighteen
Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-One
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Two
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Three
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Four
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Five
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Six
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Seven
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Eight
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Nine
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-One
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Two
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Three
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Four
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Five
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Six
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Seven
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Eight
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Nine
Chapter One Hundred and Forty
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-One
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Two
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Three
Acknowledgments
About Anna Todd
